Twin Blades
by WarlordFil
Summary: The Arbiter felt his life come apart when the Halo shattered. Now he's set his sights on someone who might be as shattered as he... Arbiter x Rtas 'Vadumee pairing. COMPLETE, 9 chapters plus epilogue.
1. Chapter 1: Shattered

**Twin Blades**

**Chapter the First: Shattered**

Time Setting: Halo 2, cinematic prior to level "The Arbiter"

The newly-minted Arbiter stared out the Phantom's portal, over the heads of the pilots, not really seeing the light of the distant stars. Instead he saw a ghost, a shade of a battle past. In his mind's eye he watched helplessly as the Halo ring cracked and broke apart, one piece spinning across the diameter of the ring to smash through the other side, until shattered fragments were all that remained.

His fault, the Council had said.

He had reviewed the mission in his head countless times, starting when the _Pillar of Autumn _fled Reach, ending with the destruction of the ring. Based on the knowledge he'd had at the time, he didn't know what else he could have done. He'd conducted himself according to the same blend of time-honoured tradition and quick, creative thinking that had earned him promotion after promotion and landed him in the position of Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice.

And now, here he stood in the armour of the Arbiter, with the Mark of Shame still burning on his chest.

The only thing worse than the knowledge that he'd failed the Covenant was the bitter sting of being labelled a heretic…as if his failure had been intentional. And the Prophets, though they knew his loyalty had never faltered, still allowed that accursed Brute Tartarus to brand him with the Mark of Shame. No, the only respite they'd offered him was the Armour of the Arbiter, which was a condemnation as much as an escape. The rest of his life was destined to be brief and filled with one impossible battle after another until his inexorable end caught up with him. This was the price of regaining the honour he never should have lost in the first place.

He wanted to survive this coming fight against the heretic Sesa 'Refumee, if only because sooner or later the Prophets would have to send him against the Demon. Nobody else had shown any signs of being able to stop the Demon, so of course they would send him. It was the nature of his new office.

And perhaps he would have some revenge before he died.

The Arbiter shook off these dark thoughts – he needed something to see him through this current mission, and the prospect of returning to his darkened cabin to pray for a future encounter with the Demon was hardly a reward. For the time being he had to forget the Demon. Instead, after this mission was finished, he would find a willing companion and…

His train of thought screeched to an abrupt, unpleasant, crashing halt.

As the Supreme Commander of the Covenant Fleet of Particular Justice, he'd never been lacking for individuals interested in a little one-on-one attention. Power had always been an aphrodesiac for Elites, military prowess in particular, and he'd had his pick of consorts ever since the Academy, from a pool that had only gotten larger as he'd made his way up the ranks.

Bisexuality was the norm for Sangheili. The mentality made sense, considering that the expeditionary fleet was composed almost entirely of males and the Home Guard, almost wholly females. Elites therefore spent most of their time in the company of the same sex as themselves. Heterosexual encounters were required by law in order to produce offspring—a duty of all Sangheili capable of the task—but the Covenant did not care what Sangheili did for affection and entertainment, as long as the military machine ran without interruption.

The only female Sangheili in the Fleet were those in support positions whose unique skills made them irreplaceable by other species: for example, all the fleet medical personnel, most of the priestesses, half the cooks, and one exceptionally surly Chief Quartermaster, Fil Storamee, whose weapons skills were Swordsman-level and devoted to ensuring that none of the fleet's supplies were wasted. The prospect of being carved up by Stormaee deterred many a would-be filcher and inspired all the warriors to take very good care of their gear; she had the skills to slice up almost anyone and the bad attitude to use those skills without remorse. Even the officers would tread carefully around Storamee's stockrooms. As Supreme Commander, the Arbiter had appreciated the way she'd kept the fleet operating so efficiently—but he hadn't wanted her anywhere near his personal quarters.

So if the males in the Fleet wanted a female, they had to compete among very limited numbers, and woe betide them if they put key personnel out of operation due to unplanned pregnancy. Many of the Sangheili, fearing unwanted offspring, frustrated by the degree of competition, or just plain scared off by the prospect of a night with the likes of Storamee, turned to their battle brothers instead.

The situation on Sangheilios was similar, except in reverse. Back home, the only males were the very young, the very old, the infirm, and a handful of those with irreplaceable skills: the Home Defence commander, some merchants, some factory production managers. Females who didn't want to compete for the available males—or didn't find the available males worth competing for—naturally developed relationships with one another.

So the greatest issue with relationships in Sangheili culture was not what gender your partner was so much as ensuring that your relationship did not get in the way of the smooth operation of society. This was where things got challenging for those in positions of authority. Fights between rivals for another's affections, allegations of favouritism for a particular unit because one of its members was the lover of a high-ranking officer, soldiers of all ranks with their minds not on their jobs due to affairs of the heart—these things were problems for all Sangheili warriors, and the higher up the chain of command one advanced, the worse they got. During his life, the Arbiter had seen too many good soldiers lose their careers, their honour, even their lives due to foolish choices inspired by love, or lust, and he had come up with three simple rules to avoid himself from ever facing these issues.

Rule #1: No long-term relationships. By the end of his first year out of the Academy he'd added "and make this clear from the beginning" when he found himself pursued by ex-lovers who didn't seem to understand what "over" meant. From then on, those Elites who'd fancied themselves possible exceptions to his rule had been, if not happy about being dumped, at least forced to suck it up because they couldn't claim they didn't know the situation before getting themselves involved.

Rule #2: Willing partners only. He'd known a few commanders in the fleet who liked to use their rank to coerce subordinates to warm their bunks, but the last thing he wanted was a pack of angry, resentful Elites—the men he was counting on to carry out vital missions—deciding they wanted him dead, even at the cost of their own lives. It was a recipe for mutiny. And it had always been his practice to severely discipline those soldiers who thought raw strength gave them the right to force their comrades. It caused dissention in the ranks, which could be deadly among individuals who had to rely on one another to survive. Furthermore, he'd never seen the appeal of forcing someone to keep him company. Brutality was reserved for enemies and occasionally for necessary discipline—romance was a personal matter, for private pleasure, and violence had no place in it. He had sufficient violence in his professional life.

Rule #3: No bonded partners. Like Rule #2, beyond the fact that he did not need the grief of wronged bondmates seeking vengeance, he simply took no pleasure in coercing another to break vows. Though Sangheili marriage was not a sacred rite, and breaking those vows was not a heresy, the Arbiter felt strongly enough about honour that he found the idea of a bonded partner distasteful.

Those three rules had served him very well during his years in command, but now things were different.

His new position was outside the Sangheili military structure, and while his armour made him a figure of reverence, the Mark of Shame made him a pariah. He would no longer have his pick of interested partners. He might have to take what he could get and be grateful for it.

The Arbiter thought about this for a while. Rule #1 was going to enforce itself regardless, because he was unlikely to live long enough to have a long-term relationship. In the meantime, though, if he could only find one interested partner, he might have no choice. He refused to discard Rule #2—the very idea offended his sense of morality. Rule #3…well…Rule #3 might be negotiable depending on who was interested in him.

How had he come to this?

Before he let himself sink into a paralyzing depression, he decided to join the special ops team in the troop bay of the Phantom. Maybe someone there would catch his eye. He steeled himself before stepping through the door; being in the company of others was difficult for him now. He could see the doubt in the eyes of the other Elites as they secretly wondered whether he was an incompetant bungler or a traitor. He could see the shadows of scornful expressions hidden behind the Grunts' masks. Looked down on by Grunts…

But he kept his head high, and would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him break. They would respect his position even if they did not respect him as a person, and he would prove himself worthy of it.

It had been years since he'd set foot on a battlefield himself; one of the problems with being in the higher ranks of command was that his days were taken up with managing the movements, capabilities, and needs of the fleet as a whole, and as a consequence he spent less time with the troops on the ground. He prided himself that he had not forgotten what it was like to _be _a Minor, and that he had kept his combat skills sharp in dueling matches and other forms of training…but by the Rings, the Special Ops Elites looked so _young_. They were strong, and handsome, and brave, but to his tired eyes they all looked like hatchlings now, their experience eons away from that of a dishonoured Supreme Commander who'd lost everything when the Halo shattered.

In the back of the shuttle, the SpecOps commander, Rtas 'Vadumee, slammed his datapad shut. The Arbiter guessed he had been reviewing the details of the mission one last time. Now he rose to his feet and roared the stand-to command while dramatically drawing and igniting his energy sword. All the Elites and Grunts leapt to their feet and formed up in even lines, weapons held in the present-arms position.

The Arbiter stood in the shadows for a moment, watching the SpecOps commander psych his troops up for battle. The Commander's pale white armour, the colour of death, gleamed like polished bone in the light of his blade. His movements were a combination of power and grace, speed and strength, iron will given form and expression.

Rtas 'Vadumee was a striking figure, even among Sangheili. He'd been offered promotions in the past, but he'd turned them down, and he had never been punished for his choices—every time he had made a convincing argument that none of his successors could lead the highly specialized commando SpecOps unit like he could. The SpecOps unit had proven itself absolutely indispensible, and so 'Vadumee ended up with authority beyond his rank, authority earned through a long record of battlefield success. His subordinates followed him with an unshakeable loyalty, and to the Arbiter's mind, 'Vadumee's greatest danger lay in the fact that if the Prophets ever decided 'Vadumee's men were more loyal to their commander than to the Covenant, they'd purge the entire lot of them.

Watching 'Vadumee now, the Arbiter felt a sudden quick spark flare inside him. 'Vadumee was a magnificent leader, a prime example of a fighting Elite, and the Arbiter racked his brain now to try to remember why he had never pursued Rtas 'Vadumee during his tenure as Supreme Commander. Did he have any chance now, he wondered? He was not a Supreme Commander any longer…

…but 'Vadumee had also changed since the Fleet of Particular Justice's arrival at Halo, the Arbiter realized, as the SpecOps commander turned his head and a terrible change to his features was revealed in the harsh lights of the troop bay.

At the Arbiter's trial, he had been faulted for not setting 'Vadumee's SpecOps unit after the Demon straightaway. Had he known then what he knew now…but of course, he could not have known at the time. He had made the decision that an attack on the Fleet of Particular Justice while the ships' crews were down on Halo would severely damage the Covenant's ability to wage war, and rather than hold large percentages of the crews in reserve, he had given the job to the smaller but extremely capable SpecOps unit.

He still did not believe the decision had been wrong. Had the contaiminated supply ship _Infinite Succor _escaped into space with Flood aboard, far more than he would have paid a terrible price. As it was, that mission had cost all of 'Vadumee's Alpha squad save 'Vadumee himself. The troops before him in the bay were 'Vadumee's Beta squad, the former trainees, now inheriting the role of their predecessors.

And 'Vadumee himself had not emerged unscathed.

Sometime during the battle on _Infinite Succor_, 'Vadumee must have suffered a terrible injury. Something had severed both mandibles on the left side of his face. The wound was still pinkish, barely healed.

And here he was now, not only out of the medbay, not only still commanding the Special Operations Unit, but heading into battle with his new set of troops. It said a lot for 'Vadumee's fighting spirit.

The Arbiter watched as Rtas 'Vadumee stalked through the ranks of Elites and Grunts, examining his troops and exhorting them to prepare for battle. The Arbiter had the sense that the SpecOps personnel had heard this litany before, because when 'Vadumee paused, his men finished his sentences. The end result was inspiring, and it was only partly to do with the words. The other part was in the sheer power and presence and certainty of the SpecOps commander, and the Arbiter could not help but find himself reacting to 'Vadumee's proximity.

It was a fine time to be playing out of his league, and if he really wanted company after the mission, he ought to be turning his attention to the young Elites assembled in front of him…

…but he could not take his eyes off 'Vadumee.

The Arbiter realized with a start that 'Vadumee had noticed his attention and was walking towards him. Quickly the Arbiter forced himself to think about the situation at hand. The realization that the Prophets were sending him on the first of many suicide missions—assuming he didn't get himself killed on this one, of course—immediately brought his mood back down. He'd much rather be trying to imagine what 'Vadumee looked like without the armour.

'Vadumee looked him up and down as he dectivated his sword and hung the hitl on his hip. The Arbiter wondered—hoped—he liked what he saw.

"That armour suits you," 'Vadumee said, and the Arbiter hoped he wasn't reading too much into that statement when he wished that 'Vadumee was not just being professionally polite.

"…but it cannot hide that mark," 'Vadumee continued.

"Nothing ever will," the Arbiter muttered, feeling his mood crash. It didn't matter how good he looked in filigree—nobody wanted a heretic.

"You are the Arbiter, the will of the Prophets—" 'Vadumee glanced meaningfully towards his troops, "but these are my Elites. Their lives matter to me. Yours does not."

The Arbiter should have been angry, but instead he simply felt stung. There was no way 'Vadumee would have spoken to him that way when he was Supreme Commander, but he was not Supreme Commander any more, and he never would be again. 'Vadumee was laying out the ground rules. He was willing to order his SpecOps soldiers to assist the Arbiter, but he was not willing to let the Arbiter send them to their deaths to save his own skin. It was a clear reminder that the Arbiter's job made him disposable.

The Arbiter had not had any intention of using 'Vadumee's soldiers as a meat shield at any rate. He was the one with the suicide sentence, not them, and it would be dishonourable to shirk it. Having the Mark of Shame did not make it acceptable to act shamefully.

And it was becoming abundantly clear that he had very little left to live for.

"That makes two of us," the Arbiter replied.

'Vadumee tilted his head, studying him. "Hm," he said, thoughtfully, and then turned on his heel, never bothering to elaborate.

*

Rtas 'Vadumee walked up to the cockpit, forcing himself to pay attention to the pilot reporting on the storm outside. The last thing he needed to do now was to think about anything to do with the _Infinite Succor _mission. Dwelling on the past would not only get him killed, it would get all his young soldiers killed as well, and though he was not entirely sure he would mind going to join Kusovai, he would not allow his weakness to harm his men. He could not, would not, lose his second squad the way he lost his first.

It seemed he'd managed to make his sentiments clear to the new Arbiter. What a mess, to have his former Supreme Commander made the Arbiter in this manner. Instead of seeing the position as an honourable retirement, it was being used as the last possible avenue of redemption for a convicted heretic.

Privately, 'Vadumee was not convinced that the Arbiter was truly a heretic. He had run the battle scenarios using the Halo mission data himself, and unless there was some large factor that he did not know about, he could not imagine what error the Supreme Commander had made that deserved this sort of punishment.

But if the Prophets said it, then it must be so—or perhaps they used the term to describe anyone who harmed the Covenant, intentionally or otherwise.

Was it really possible to sin with the best of intent?

Regardless, 'Vadumee felt a measure of sympathy for the Arbiter, who had been an exemplary kind of Supreme Commander, the sort who respected his men, who balanced the need for decisive leadership with the knowledge of when to step back and let his soldiers do their jobs. He was the type who surrounded himself with competant, capable warriors, not toadies who would make him look good by comparison. They had seen eye-to-eye on many things, but 'Vadumee had become accustomed to looking at the Arbiter as a superior, and trusting him to lead. Seeing him in his new position, outside the formal military rank structure and stamped with the brand that called his every decision into question, had left 'Vadumee shaken.

But he did look good in the filigree armour.

'Vadumee immediately felt guilty for even thinking the thought. Kusovai was barely cold in his grave and…

…and it wasn't as though he never noticed other people before, was it? Of course not—it was only wrong if you took action to cheat on your bondmate behind his back. And that was something he had never done. Even to fulfill his religious obligation to reproduce with females, he had always sought Kusovai's approval beforehand.

So why did he feel as though he was betraying Kusovai now?

He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping none of his soldiers noticed his only outward sign of distress as he forced his thoughts into order. He could mourn Kusovai tonight. Now, he had a mission to conduct, and if he wasn't thinking straight, more young warriors would die.

Rtas 'Vadumee pushed all his emotions down into a dark place deep inside him where he kept his sorrow for his dead squad, his frustration at his inability to save them, his fear of the Flood, and his deep abiding grief over Kusovai's fate. To that mix he added "whatever the hell he felt about the Arbiter" and slammed the lid closed.


	2. Chapter 2: Sword

**Chapter the Second: Sword**

Time Setting: Halo 2, during and after level "The Arbiter"

Rtas 'Vadumee raised his muzzle and sniffed the air. The fragrance he smelled made his blood run cold and his guts twist in fear.

Death and rot and sickness, festering wounds, maggots, pain and fear—and another odour that his language had no word for, a nauseating scent that was uniquely Flood.

What was the Parasite doing here, on this holy installation? By the Rings, the Spec Ops team had come hunting heretic Sangheili and Unggoy. How had the Flood gotten here? Had Sesa 'Refumee and his crew crossed the line from blasphemy to insanity, and brought them here? Or perhaps they had done so by accident. Or maybe the spores had already been here, waiting to contaminate the next living thing that arrived.

Or perhaps the heretics had been surprised by a Flood-laden ship, like _Infinite Succor_…

By the Prophets, were there other Parasite-infested ships out there, spreading the spores across the universe, threatening everything living?

'Vadumee could not think about that. He would task his soldiers to kill the Heretics and the Parasite carriers—that was enough of an order for his new squad. Afterwards, he would warn the Prophets and the Council. If there were more Flood out there, they had to be destroyed.

For now, he steeled himself, exerting an iron will over the fear slithering through his bowels.

A brief image flashed through his mind of a Sangheili conquered by the Parasite, advancing on him, sword in hand and tentacles bursting from its other arm—and in this nightmare daydream it was not Kusovai, but the new Arbiter.

Then 'Vadumee got a grip on his emotions and the image vanished, though on the left side of his face he felt a throbbing ache from mandibles he no longer possessed.

*

The Arbiter was fast, but Sesa 'Refumee was faster. When 'Vadumee entered the room with his Elites at his heels, he saw the Arbiter standing before a closed door. Echoes from the Arbiter's punch reverberated through the room.

"Arbiter! Where is he?" Vadumee demanded.

The Arbiter did not answer. He did not need to.

'Vadumee felt a sting of panic. They could not go back to the Hierarchs empty-handed, and even if they found a place to shelter from the storm, the prospect of sitting around this Flood-infested station waiting for 'Refumee to get hungry or thirsty enough to come out—and who knows how many supplies he had in there with him—made his skin crawl. He could imagine Parasite spores creeping over every surface, waiting to infest his men, to turn them into monsters…

He expressed his fear only as a growl as he examined the door, which was distressingly sturdy. He wished he'd brought a fuel rod cannon—or a pair of Hunters. "Stinking Floodbait boxed himself in tight. We'll never break through this."

"We shall force him out," the Arbiter said thoughtfully.

Easier said than done. "How?" 'Vadumee asked suspiciously. Did the Arbiter have a workable plan?

He wanted it to be true. He hoped it was true. These days, though, it seemed to be only his nightmares that came true.

The Arbiter was studying the schematic of the station. "The cable," he murmured. "I'm going to cut it."

The plan was audacious and unorthodox – typical of the former Supreme Commander – but also insane, far more dangerous than anything the Commander would have undertaken before.

But he was the Arbiter now, and meant for danger, and it was clear that he knew it.

"Get everyone back to the ships," the Arbiter said.

'Vadumee felt a rush of relief and gratitude as he trailed his warriors back to the Phantoms. The Arbiter's words on the Phantom had not been just talk. He was honourable enough to take the risks on himself, rather than force young soldiers to pay for his decisions with their lives. 'Vadumee felt suddenly guilty for assuming the worst of him.

And fighting through the Flood alone, to send the station into a freefall towards its own destruction, then battling the Heretics in the hopes that he could defeat them before the station came apart… It was a hellish risk, and a lonely way to die.

Rtas hesitated, thinking for a moment before he turned back to the Arbiter. "Take my blade," he offered, holding out the sword. "I doubt the cable can withstand its bite."

The Arbiter nodded his thanks, then seized the sword and sprinted upwards.

'Vadumee wasn't sure what to make of the Arbiter's expression in that moment, but he knew one thing—he would support his former Supreme Commander, rank or no rank, Mark of Shame or no. He would not flee with his men and leave the Arbiter to die. No matter what it cost him.

*

With the Heretic 'Refumee dead at last, the Arbiter rode back from the mission in silence, trying to avoid contact with Tartarus and his crew of Brutes as much as possible. They seemed quite happy to let him ride in the back corner of their Phantom; mercifully, they ignored him.

The words of Sesa 'Refumee and the Oracle still rang in his earbuds. Was it at all possible that the heresy had some basis in fact?

No. It was _not_ possible. The Oracle had to have been corrupted, or tampered with…'Refumee had been speaking twisted word, designed to confuse and to raise doubt. Faith and devotion were the twin blades of righteousness.

And then Tartarus had appeared and taken possession of the Oracle. The Brute was becoming too presumptious and also far too powerful. The Arbiter wondered what Tartarus' rank was, exactly. Chieftan of the Brutes, that he understood, but his role seemed to have expanded beyond simple leadership of his people. He appeared to be working very closely with the Prophets—they had even let him administer the Mark of Shame, a job which better belonged to a fellow Sangheili. The Arbiter should have been punished by his own people, preferably his successor as Supreme Commander, not some miserable Brute…

The only good thing that happened today was 'Vadumee. The Arbiter turned 'Vadumee's sword hilt over in his hands. He was reluctant to give it back—the loan of the blade provided tangible proof that someone still believed in him, or even cared the least bit for his welfare.

*

Back on High Charity, in the Elite military complex, the Arbiter sidestepped neatly around two Elites making out in the hall.

This was a heterosexual couple: one of 'Vadumee's young SpecOps soldiers and a female doctor whom the Arbiter recognized from the city's medical staff. The male was already out of his armour and had his jumpsuit unzipped; the female was still wearing her robe, but the pile on the floor indicated there was nothing underneath it save for her lover's hands. The Arbiter could not find the heart in himself to tell them to take it to private quarters.

It was common practice for Sangheili to go seeking their lovers after a battle. Sex made you feel alive, made you glad you were still alive. The arms of a partner reassured, let you feel safe and loved you no matter what horrors you'd committed in the name of the Covenant. The SpecOps Elites who had bondmates or even regular consorts would likely already be locked away in whatever private space they could find. The rest…

The Arbiter pushed open the door to the ship's mess.

This room was reserved for Sangheili only; the Grunts, Jackals, Drones, Engineers and Hunters had their own messes, and the Prophets dined in a separate and much more ornate lounge. At the back was a small room restricted to senior officers. The Arbiter used to eat there exclusively; now he wondered if he'd even be allowed inside. He didn't care. The last thing he needed was to isolate himself farther.

It didn't seem to matter. The other Sangheili, upon noticing him, would nod their heads respectfully and then turn their attention elsewhere—even if that meant straight down at their drink pouches or straight up to pretend to examine some nonexistant mark on the ceiling.

High position plus dishonour equalled persona non grata in here.

The Arbiter cast his gaze around the mess, looking desperately for 'Vadumee, because he still had 'Vadumee's energy sword in his possession. The blade gave him an excuse to seek out 'Vadumee's company, but 'Vadumee was nowhere to be found.

A sickening thought crossed his mind—perhaps 'Vadumee was already busy with this evening's consort.

The Arbiter felt useless and awkward, standing there in the middle of the mess hall while life boomed all around him. It was as though he was no longer part of his own species. He stood there, as alien as a human being, being ignored by half the mess and stared at by the others who turned away when he glanced in their direction.

"You c'n sit here, sir."

The voice was rough and very informal, and the hand grabbing at his armour (the hand that dared to grab!) utterly lacked in grace, but right now the Arbiter was willing to forgive the affront in exchange for a place where he was wanted. He let the individual pull him into a seat.

"You look like shit, sir."

The Arbiter struggled to recognize the garish lavendar-and-white armour, which didn't look like the ceremonial colours of any unit he'd ever encountered. He also didn't recognize the shield insignia painted on the armour's shoulders. Come to think of it, the armour itself looked like a mishmash of different kinds of chestplates, shoulder plates and the regulation combat headdress, as though the owner had run amok in Stores and sampled a little bit of everything…

"Storamee?" he asked. By the Rings, was that voice female? Between her warrior's armour and her scarred neck and the fact that she was built like a Wraith, it was easy to mistake her for a male. He supposed there was no mistaking that outrageous armour though—now that he thought of it, she had always worn pale purple.

"You like it?" she asked, chuckling a laugh that sounded like claws against steel. "I thought I might trade the headdress for one of those fancy High Council helmets."

The Arbiter shook his head in a combination of astonishment and admiration. "You'd best take care that the new Supreme Commander will be as tolerant of your…eccentricities…as I was."

"You said it best yourself, the fleet wouldn't run nearly so smoothly without me. He's seen reason."

"You convinced him?"

"I let him put me on general duties for a week. I got my old job back this morning." She snorted smugly and took a long slurp out of whatever was in her pouch. "And you wouldn't believe what a mess they made of my stores in only eight days. Anyway, figured I deserved a perk so I built myself some new armour. Like the paint?"

The Arbiter could only shake his head.

Across the room, a young male made a hesitant approach towards them. Fil Storamee noticed him and turned her head to the Arbiter. "You fancy this one? Because if not, I'm going to bite him."

The Arbiter guessed she'd been shooting down offers all night from new arrivals who didn't know better. He wondered why she was in the bar at all instead of hiding in her storerooms. Maybe she liked the excuse to fight. He wouldn't put it past her.

If it turned out the young Elite was coming for him, not her, would he…?

He sighed. He was lonely beyond words, but his thoughts had been swallowed up by despair. He was simply not in the mood. He shook his head.

One snap of the mandibles later, the young Elite was beating a hasty retreat and Stormaee was muttering something about 'Vadumee's boys being exceptionally fast and how she'd definitely chew a piece out of the little whelp next time.

The Arbiter seized on the name. "Have you seen 'Vadumee? Recently?"

Fil shook her head. "No. And you won't find him down here. But I know exactly where he is."

The Arbiter gazed at her, and she elaborated.

"You used to be Supreme Commander and I know what kind of soldier you were. That's why I'm telling you this. 'Vadumee has been going off the rails ever since _Infinite Succor_."

"Off the rails?" the Arbiter inquired.

"Oh, not professionally…he's the epitome of professionalism in public. Privately. I never see him down here any more." She twirled the straw in her pouch. "He spends all his spare time locked up in his quarters, messed up about Kusovai."

The Arbiter didn't bother to ask how she knew that; Storamee seemed to have a line on everything that went on in the fleet. The name she'd said was somehow familiar. Kusovai. Where had he heard that name before?

"Kusovai," he mused.

"'Vadumee's Subcommander. You know, the one that could beat me with a sword?"

That was saying a lot, coming from Fil. Yes, now he remembered. Kusovai had been an exemplary swordsman.

"He died on the _Infinite Succor_, didn't he?"

"You know how he died, right?"

"No. I heard only that he did not make it back."

Fil shook her head. "He got infected by the Parasite. 'Vadumee had to fight him in a duel to the death—that's how Rtas got his mandibles chopped off."

The Arbiter nodded, understanding how being forced to kill a trusted subordinate, and receiving a permanent physical reminder of the incident, would hurt, but Fil was still speaking.

"...and I can't even imagine how it would feel to put a sword through your bondmate's heart. You know?"

Understanding struck like lighting.

_That _was why he'd never pursued 'Vadumee farther. 'Vadumee had had a bondmate: Kusovai.

It certainly put 'Vadumee's obvious hatred and fear of the Flood into perspective. But he knowledge that 'Vadumee was newly single was rendered irrelevant by the fact that Rtas was clearly in mourning for his partner and his horrible and untimely death at 'Vadumee's own hand.

The Arbiter looked down at the sword hilt in his hand.

So close, and yet so far.

Fil Storamee was watching him with a gaze that was far too perceptive. The female was truly frightening sometimes.

"I don't want Rtas falling apart," she said abruptly, as she pulled out a data pad and began typing something into it. "He and I have an…understanding."

"An understanding?" the Arbiter said slowly, again feeling a pang of jealousy.

"He stays out of my face," she elaborated, as she handed him the pad. "I like people who stay out of my face. It's why I also like you."

The datapad contained a series of coordinates—directions. The Arbiter looked at her questioningly.

"I'm guessing 'Vadumee would like his sword back." The Chief Quartermaster nodded to the hilt in his hands. It figured that she'd be able to recognize it on sight. Then her eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare hurt him."

The Arbiter pretended to not know what she was talking about. "Why would I do that? We need his combat skills on the battlefield more than ever."

"Not what I meant, wise ass. And I'm serious." She stared at him with an expression that clearly said _cut the bullshit_. "I've heard the stories about you. So if you're going over to his place to be his friend, you'd better treat him like a friend, not like entertainment. Are we clear? Even before…" She stumbled on her words, not able to speak the name. "'Vadumee has never been interested in flavour of the week or even flavor of the year. Do you understand what I'm saying? Go the distance or punch out now, flyboy."

The Arbiter mumbled something noncommittal and stormed away from the now cranky Chief Quartermaster, who was yelling something at his back. He couldn't be bothered listening to her any longer.

First 'Vadumee, then Storamee, telling him what the score was. He didn't like it. Supreme Commanders did not take orders. Ex-Supreme Commanders did not take orders well.

Rtas 'Vadumee had doubtlessly heard the same rumours everyone else heard about the Arbiter's sex life. He knew what he was getting into. And, the Arbiter thought, if 'Vadumee slammed the door in his face, he could take a hint. If he didn't, though…that was 'Vadumee's own choice, and as with any action, consequences happened. The consequences of 'Vadumee's decisions were not the Arbiter's responsibility, no matter what Fil Storamee thought.

*

The coordinates Storamee had given him led the Arbiter directly to a door sporting a nameplate reading:

RTAS 'VADUMEE

SPEC OPS COMMANDER

She might have all the charm of a Jackal, but the Arbiter suspected the Chief Quartermaster actually worried about 'Vadumee.

And it was contagious.

The Arbiter knocked on the door. Silence. He knocked again, and then he heard 'Vadumee's voice from within. "A moment." It was a very long moment before the SpecOps commander opened the door.

He looked neat and trim and wholly in control, wearing his white armour—full battle dress, in his private quarters?—and presenting such a fine figure that the Arbiter's pulse reacted instinctively. The Arbiter kept his head by reminding himself that 'Vadumee had needed time to make himself presentable. He could only guess what 'Vadumee might have looked like before he opened the door.

But he could make an educated guess. He took a glance past 'Vadumee. The sheets on his bunk were twisted and he had a row of pillows in the middle of the bed, lying in a manner which might approximate the feel of another individual in the bunk.

Mourning Kusovai.

The Arbiter felt a sudden flash of envy for the dead Subcommander, who if nothing else, had enjoyed 'Vadumee's company while he'd been alive. The Arbiter would also be dead sooner or later, probably sooner, and he might never get that chance.

Might? _Would _never get that chance…

"Arbiter," 'Vadumee said, his tone and expression once again guarded.

"Good evening, Rtas. I've come to return your sword," the Arbiter said, holding out the hilt.

He was hoping 'Vadumee might invite him in, but the other Elite simply accepted the sword hilt and remained standing in his doorway. A tantilizing smell drifted out.

The Arbiter's gaze darted behind 'Vadumee to the bowl on his desk. It was piled high with shredded meat.

Of course. The Arbiter was surprised he hadn't thought of it sooner.

Elites ate by using their upper pair of mandibles to grip their prey (these days, aboard ship, usually a large hunk of meat) while their lower mandibles flayed the flesh from the bone. When they inhaled, the rush of air sucked the shredded meat down into their gullets.

But 'Vadumee had only two mandibles now. He could not grip his meat. Instead he had to have it pre-shredded so that he could eat.

The Arbiter no longer blamed him for avoiding the mess hall. Having battle scars was one thing, but being an invalid in a warrior society was not something one would want to advertise while he still held high rank and a battle commission.

The Arbiter forced his attention back to 'Vadumee. "I…wanted to tell you how much I appreciated the use of it."

'Vadumee managed a partial smile—partial in that even the intact side of his mouth only made it partway. "You're a credit to that armour, Arbiter. I would have you alive as long as possible."

"I am in your debt," he said quietly. "Rest assured that I will make my gratitude clear."

'Vadumee's expression lapsed right back into suspicion. The Arbiter could see his defensiveness clearly now. Storamee was right—'Vadumee was hurting, hurting badly, and he didn't want anyone to know—not the Brutes, who would mock him for it, not his warriors, who would be confused and upset by it, not his superiors who would punish him for showing weakness. "I know your reputation well," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Do not for one moment consider me the next on your list of conquests."

This time, though, the Arbiter was not dejected. He had not become Supreme Commander by being easily deterred. "I am aware of other ways to say thank you," he said coolly, and watched 'Vadumee look discomfited.

Victory.

"Until tomorrow," he said, and before 'Vadumee had any chance to argue, he took his leave.

*

Upon returning to his quarters, the Arbiter found a small parcel hanging from his door handle and a sticker on it indicating it had been sent up from Stores.

Fil Storamee, at it again. He took the item into his room, closed and locked the door, then opened the parcel. He wondered if she was pissed off at him. If she was, the box would probably explode when he opened the lid.

Then the Arbiter threw back his head and laughed.

It was a meat shredder.

The Chief Quartermaster, with that uncanny foresight of hers, had read him perfectly.


	3. Chapter 3: Shame

**Chapter the Third: Shame**

Time Setting: The day after Chapter 2 (prior to the events in the Halo 2 level Sacred Icon)

Rtas 'Vadumee wondered if he had gone completely mad. If he knew the Arbiter was coming to "thank" him—and he had no doubts what that would mean—why was he still sitting around his quarters _waiting_?

The Sangheili day was traditionally divided into seven segments: waking, fighting, hunting, eating, relaxing, first sleep, and second sleep. Even now, Sangheili installations kept time based on these segments, though the Prophets had instituted a system of twenty-eight hours upon the creation of the Covenant. On a built installation such as High Charity or a Covenant cruiser—a vessel that traversed space on its own power rather than orbiting a sun—there was no natural way of marking time. All the Covenant fleets, therefore, kept the same hours as High Charity.

He'd had a miserable day, too. The Demon had successfully assassinated the Prophet of Regret. For a moment he'd almost been happy about it, because hunting the Demon around the Halo would be a perfect excuse to not come back here. But then the Prophets had suddenly, inexplicably, ordered a withdrawl and so by the time the fighting cycle ended, he'd turned over the watch to his new Subcommander and returned to his quarters.

The clock on 'Vadumee's wall read that it was the fourth hour of the traditional hunting cycle. Soon the Elite mess would begin serving meals—Sangheili ate only once a day, then spent their rest hours digesting the food they'd swallowed. 'Vadumee would go down later and get leftovers from the kitchens to shred.

He pondered hiding out in the kitchens. Or perhaps he could invent an excuse to visit Stores and talk to Storamee. Surely anything would be better than sitting around waiting for the Arbiter to make good on the previous day's threat.

'Vadumee straightened himself, telling himself that Sangheili did not _hide _and if he had any sense, he'd be turning his mind to the question of the Brutes' increasing power and responsibility in the ranks of the Covenant. The Sangheili were the Guardians of the Prophets and he intended to keep it that way; he would not let his species lose their power and influence to a pack of smelly barbarians.

But of course he wasn't actually making any real progress on that project. He'd been mostly pushing a writing tool aimlessly around a datascreen and thinking about how the Arbiter had slashed through Flood with a lethal grace, his armour gleaming like his eyes…

By the Rings, did he _want _the Arbiter to find him?

No, he told himself, he didn't. Even before Kusovai, he had not been the type for one-night stands. In both his professional and personal life, Rtas 'Vadumee had no use for unreliable people. He surrounded himself with those he could trust unconditionally to be there for him, every time, just as he was there for them…

He still felt that he'd failed Kusovai.

How much worse a failure if he did something foolish with a Sangheili absolutely infamous for his parade of lovers? Was there any amount of pleasure that was worth feeling abandoned and discarded the next morning? Why would he ever want to follow his dear, devoted Kusovai with something cheap and tawdry?

'Vadumee and Kusovai had made a standing arrangement long ago. They both knew there was a high likelihood that sooner or later one of them would die in battle. Kusovai had told him, back near the beginning, that if it was his time to fall, he would not want Rtas to spend the rest of his life alone. No, it wasn't the idea of moving on that was the problem—in time he would have to.

The problem was the Arbiter. The Arbiter was definitely _not_ the person to do it with. If he hadn't been so upset about the Flood and the Demon and the Brutes—if Kusovai's death wasn't still so raw—there would be no way he'd ever consider the Arbiter anything more than a brilliant soldier to be admired from afar.

The kind of brilliant soldier you liked to stare at when he wasn't looking.

'Vadumee clicked his mandibles together, at least on one side. On the other side his stumps churned empty air.

He was a commander known for making smart decisions. It was time to make a smart decision now.

He would tell the Arbiter that he was very busy with important work—which he ought to be—and that would be the end of it.

He sat back in his chair, feeling satisfied.

There was a knock on the door, and 'Vadumee's brief moment of confident security came to an abrupt end. All of a sudden his heart was thundering and his palms were sweaty, like a new recruit just before his first battle.

_Just tell him you're busy and you have no time for nonsense._

'Vadumee opened the door, hoping he looked commanding and important and very, very busy.

As expected, his visitor was the Arbiter. The other Sangheili looked even better than 'Vadumee remembered—strong, lean muscles under a snug-fitting bodysuit, with that ornate armour shining like lightning given form…

He'd _polished _it. Undoubtedly.

'Vadumee did not want to be the kind of Elite who was impressed by shiny armour. This desire did not stop him from finding both the armour and the Sangheili wearing it very impressive indeed. It also did not help him stop remembering what the Arbiter had looked like tearing through the Heretics with that armour on, proving that he had the battle skills to go with his martial appearance.

The Arbiter was grinning at him and holding a large bowl with a heating unit clamped on the bottom and a big lid on the top. Whatever was in it, it smelled exceptionally good—particularly to 'Vadumee, who'd been eating gruel from the medical bays until the past few days, when he'd upgraded to cold, greasy, shredded leftovers.

"I brought you dinner," the Arbiter said simply.

The tantilizing smell was soured by the fact that he didn't want anyone—particularly not the Arbiter—watching him mince his food and then pick at it with little sticks like a San 'Shyuum, instead of clamping it in his mandibles and flaying it apart the way a Sangheili ought to eat. Clearly he should tell the Arbiter that he was too busy to eat anything right now, except that the food smelled downright amazing and with no mandibles on his left side he couldn't hide the fact that he was drooling all over his chest armour.

The Arbiter lifted the lid—smugly, 'Vadumee thought.

Inside was an array of different types of meat, and every single one of them was already shredded. Some of them floated in sauces, while others had been lightly spiced and…

It was the _perfect _meal for him. How had the Arbiter known when 'Vadumee never ate outside his quarters? Rtas could not believe the Arbiter had gone to so much effort—and he could not say no. Instead, he stepped back and held the door wide for the Arbiter to enter.

The Arbiter set the bowl down on a small table while 'Vadumee closed the door—closed, but didn't lock. He didn't want the Arbiter getting the wrong idea. Food, yes, food was perfectly safe. Nothing wrong with sharing a meal together. In fact, Vadumee admitted he'd soundly missed eating in company. Except…

"I hope you're aware that I make a terrible mess when I eat," he said tightly.

If nothing else, the sight would probably put the Arbiter off flirting with him. That was a good thing, right?

The Arbiter tilted his head. That strange, arcane helm—a relic of some bygone age—blended with the features he remembered looking at him from under the purple headdress of the Supreme Commander, making the Arbiter look both young and ancient at the same time. Power and wisdom together…

'Vadumee shivered. Something about that mix was just grabbing him by the heart and not letting go…

"Are you ashamed?" the Arbiter said.

'Vadumee bristled, not wanting to admit that he ate in hiding so his soldiers wouldn't see their intrepid leader slobbering all over himself like a greedy Grunt at the teat. He was opening his mouth to deny it when the Arbiter took off his chestplate.

"What are you doing?" 'Vadumee demanded, staring all the while as the Arbiter's shoulder plates and arm guards followed the chestplate onto the cabin floor. _What about the food? What about the dinner? By the Rings, he's a magnificent sight…Should I stop him?_

_What if I don't want to stop him?_

But the Arbiter stopped after he'd gotten rid of his upper body armour. He left his thigh guards and greaves on. He unfastened his jumpsuit, only to the waist.

"I don't think you're the one who has the most to be ashamed of," he said as he pulled his arms out of the sleeves and tied them around his waist, securing his suit in a "half mast" position that left his upper torso bare, but the bottom half of him covered. He raised his arm and gestured towards the now-wholly-visible Mark of Shame.

"You didn't do anything wrong," 'Vadumee admitted, and suddenly regretted it because it was heresy to say so, blasphemy to call the High Council into question…but it was true, and he could not take it back, so he pressed on. "I ran the scenarios myself," he murmured, confessing his sins. "I would have done the same."

The Arbiter tilted his head. "And what shame is there in your wound? Were it not for you, the Parasite would have contaminated the entire Fleet of Particular Justice. Anyone who wishes to criticize if you drop an occasional bit of meat should ask himself which he would prefer: to ask a Grunt to sweep the floor when you are done, or to become a Flood host." He lifted the pot.

It was a good argument. 'Vadumee picked up his end table, dumped the contents onto the foot of his bunk, and set it up so that one end of it was facing his bunk, and the other was facing the room. As the Arbiter placed the pot on the table, 'Vadumee set his desk chair against the other end. He sat in his bed, opened the drawer in the end table and pulled out a pair of eating sticks acquired from the Prophets' mess. After a pause, he pulled out a second pair.

"I, for one," said the Arbiter, as he reached for the second set of sticks, "would prefer to let you spill all the food you please. Particularly since I have no concept of how to use these, and am liable to spill even more."

'Vadumee grinned—sincerely this time—and showed the Arbiter how to hold one stick still against one of his thumbs and set the other against his finger like a pincer. They dove into the meal together. The Arbiter managed to get exactly one pice of meat into his mouth before he dropped the second onto the rug. They both stared….and then 'Vadumee started laughing.

By the Rings. He hadn't laughed in Forerunners-knew how long. "A fine guest you are," he cried, "making a mess on your host's carpet."

Soon they were both laughing themselves silly at each other's attempts to eat. 'Vadumee hoped to the Ancestors that the soundproofing held so no one in the hall could hear them. What would his soldiers say if they discovered the two of them cackling like jeuvenile Jackals, dropping food everywhere?

"A fine host you are," the Arbiter retorted as soon as he could get a word in edgewise, "not even providing your guest with anything to drink."

"Let me rectify that," "Vadumee said as his unspeakable giggles finally faded—though first he staggered to the door to lock it, because if someone _could _hear them in the hall, he didn't want to take any chances. He had a small dispenser mounted on the wall, keeping drink pouches warm to a pleasant temperature. By the time he selected two, the Arbiter had gotten up from the table and moved to 'Vadumee's couch, still holding the bowl.

Couch. Couch was fine. Couch was much more innocent than bunk, right? 'Vadumee took a seat on the other side of the couch, passed the Arbiter one of the drink pouches, and started a conversation about a rumour he'd heard that one of the weapons developers was trying to invent a Covenant-style flamethrower. It was a safe topic. He didn't want to bring up anything that reminded him of the _Infinite Succor_ mission, anything that reminded the Arbiter of his fall from grace, and definitely not anything that reminded either of them of anything remotely sexual.

As the conversation continued, 'Vadumee gradually relaxed. The Arbiter was right – it was nice to be eating in company again, and as it turned out, the Arbiter was actually a very pleasant dining companion. Their previous interaction had been one of business acquaintances; the difference in their rank had made friendship an awkward prospect, and the nature of the SpecOps unit gave SpecOps personnel little opportunity to socialize outside their own group. The Arbiter's new role put him in much closer cooperation with SpecOps, and on a more equal footing.

'Vadumee admitted to himself that during his relationship with Kusovai, he'd neglected many of his old friends, to the extent of finding himself almost entirely alone after Kusovai died. And it was beyond inappropriate for a leader to burden the junior members of his squad with his personal problems when they looked to him for inspiration and leadership. If they lost their faith in him, it could get them killed. He would not see them come to harm, not any of them. Being friends with the Arbiter would probably be a good thing for him, as long as he kept a firm line drawn between friendship and flirtation to make certain that things didn't get out of hand.

And then things started getting out of hand.

It was the Arbiter's fault. 'Vadumee understood that the half-off jumpsuit was really the only way to display the Mark of Shame to its full extent, but it also gave him a very nice view of the Arbiter's muscular shoulders and torso. It was hard not to stare, and he was putting so much effort into not staring (or, rather, not being caught staring—having just averted disaster, there was no way he wanted the Arbiter to see him checking him out and get the wrong idea all over again) that he didn't devote enough attention to eating, and dropped a shred of curried meat out through the stubs of his missing mandibles.

The Arbiter got a rogush grin as he snatched the escaped tidbit off Vadumee's armour with his dining sticks, but instead of having the good graces to throw it away—or even eat it himself—didn't the bastard hold it up to 'Vadumee's mandibles. It smelled so absolutely delicious that before he knew what he was doing, 'Vadumee had plucked it off the Arbiter's sticks and inhaled it.

The Arbiter promptly fished a second morsel out of the bowl and held it up for 'Vadumee to eat.

After that second one, that's when Vadumee started thinking it was entirely inappropriate for him to sit here like a Grunt in line at the nipple, waiting for the Arbiter to feed him, so he put his sticks into the bowl and speared a bite for the Arbiter.

Somewhere along the line the dining sticks went missing in action and they'd ended up feeding one another out of each other's hands.

He also blamed the Arbiter for slowly shrinking his reach until Vadumee was practically in his lap to get the next bite.

Yes, this was all the Arbiter's doing. 'Vadumee certainly couldn't be blamed for enjoying the sensation of the Arbiter delicately nibbling treats out of his hand. Or for rubbing the stumps of his mandibles against the Arbiter's wrist to get a brief forbidden taste of the Arbiter's skin...

He might, however, share a bit of the blame for the fact that he finally lost his balance trying to reach those treats without actually climbing into the Arbiter's lap, and ended up sprawled up against the Arbiter's chest. The other Sangheili's skin was velvet smooth, while the muscles underneath were hard and firm, and he smelled so very good. And although it had not been that long since 'Vadumee had been held, the stress and trauma of the _Infinite Succor_ mission and the destruction of the Halo and taking Beta Squad into battle against the heretics....he was battle-weary, and it felt as though he'd been alone forever. Was it that wrong to steal a moment of comfort?

'Vadumee was_ certain_ he wasn't the one who started nibbling on the Arbiter's neck. It was definitely the Arbiter who started that, slipping his mandibles under the lip of 'Vadumee's headdress and ever so lightly caressing him there... The sensation made 'Vadumee go weak; fortunately the Arbiter's naked chest was right there to lean against, and all he had to do was curve his hands around the strong muscles of the Arbiter's shoulder blades and hold on, with the rough scar tissue of the Mark of Shame against his cheek... He wasn't sure how long it went on, only that eventually he realized he shouldn't be lying there submissively like a new recruit. But somehow the realization didn't translate into sitting up and telling the Arbiter to stop it. It translated into getting a little of his own, and the next thing he knew he was ever so lightly grazing the Arbiter's shoulder with his remaining fangs.

He could feel the Arbiter tugging at his back armour, and when the fourth pull got more insistent, Vadumee finally got his wakeup call. If he didn't stop this now, the next thing he knew they'd both be minus armour and jumpsuits and everything, and then it would be far too late to extract himself from this situation. He had red lights in his brain informing him that mating with the Arbiter was bad news, even if he couldn't remember why, but although the Arbiter's every touch was making a persuasive argument for him to reconsider, he hadn't survived this long as SpecOps commander by ignoring his instincts. And if his instincts said eject, eject, eject, then it was time to extricate himself while he still could.

But still he waited. Something in him held his breath, thinking that the Arbiter was just teasing him, that surely things wouldn't go that far. Another part of him actually hoped he'd lose his armour, and was waiting in quivering anticipation to feel the Arbiter's hands on his jumpsuit, caressing him through the thin fabric...

It wasn't until 'Vadumee's back plate came off in the Arbiter's hands that 'Vadumee was galvanized into action—because the way the other Sangheili ran his left hand over 'Vadumee's shoulder blades, stroking him through his jumpsuit, while his right hand put the plate on the floor between them reminded Rtas so very strongly of Kusovai. And this was the Arbiter… Too much, too soon, with someone who would be gone tomorrow. 'Vadumee instinctively jerked his body backwards, breaking the hypnotic contact that had held him in thrall.

The Arbiter was left holding 'Vadumee's back plate and gazing at him, saying nothing.

'Vadumee felt suddenly ashamed. He'd had no business being complicit in these...these shenanigans. He should have stopped it at the outset. Now the Arbiter would be disgusted, call him a tease, throw down his armour and stalk out, and he would lose all possibility of a friendship with him, all because he hadn't known where to draw the line.

*

For a few moments the Arbiter had been sure he'd changed 'Vadumee's mind.

He'd had the SpecOps Elite in his lap, practically purring as he ran his mandibles over his skin, teasing him as his fangs traced that fine line between pain and pleasure, nipping one moment, soothing the next with his tongue, while 'Vadumee clung to him, eyes squinted shut in pleasure. And then 'Vadumee had started responding in kind with a hunger equal to his own. All the Arbiter needed to do was help Rtas out of that armour and jumpsuit, then...

The Arbiter had vowed to keep his self-control just long enough to evict those pillows from 'Vadumee's bed and show him how much better it was to replace them with a real live partner.

'Vadumee would like the bunk best, he was sure. So he couldn't give in to the temptation to just get him on the floor and keep him too thrilled to protest about it. 'Vadumee had to be handled carefully, delicately, and the Arbiter would not ruin it.

Unfortunately the moment he got the first piece of armour off his comrade, 'Vadumee had jerked away.

He'd misjudged and gone too far, too quickly...but dammit, he'd been tracing that armour for a good quarter hour. How much patience could one Elite be expected to have? That had been plenty of warning for Rtas to know what was coming.

Now the SpecOps Elite was sitting on the other side of the couch, head hanging, contrite.

It wasn't what the Arbiter had expected. Had Rtas yelled at him, scowled at him, stared at him with disgust, that's when the Arbiter would have thrown the white armour at him, called him a hypocrite for denying that he'd been enjoying himself, and stalked out. But Vadumee wasn't pretending to be angry, or offended, or repelled. He just looked lonely and confused.

The Arbiter clicked his mandibles together and realized, too late, that he'd crossed a line. Vadumee was suffering not only combat fatigue but real post-traumatic stress from the absolute horror of the _Infinite Succor_ mission, plus he was still grieving for Kusovai.

The Arbiter realized that he really was an absolute scum for taking advantage of 'Vadumee in these circumstances. Fil Storamee had been right. He'd been so hung up about the Mark of Shame and the dangers of his new job and his own tensions that he never once thought that 'Vadumee might be just as troubled. And 'Vadumee, unlike himself, was the monogamous sort. Fil had told him so. Historically he had always turned to the sport-of-the-week to distract him; 'Vadumee had always turned to Kusovai. And now Kusovai was gone, and 'Vadumee was lost.

The Arbiter had a lot of making up to do if he was going to salvage this.

And, the Arbiter realized, he actually wanted to salvage this.

Historically, if a potential lover was showing signs of reluctance, the Arbiter usually just walked away. There were lots of others where that one came from, and most often the very next day the reluctant partner was back, having gotten over whatever issue had been in the way and ready to please.

The Arbiter told himself that it was the lack of potential partners elsewhere that kept him in 'Vadumee's quarters. He had to make nice tonight if he was going to have any chance ever again. He was also willing to admit that he genuinely enjoyed 'Vadumee's company—the SpecOps commander was intelligent, knowledgeable, clever, and not the least bit afraid to tell him what he thought, regardless of his position. And he could make the Arbiter laugh, and had no shame about laughing with him. People like 'Vadumee were not easy to find. The Arbiter did not want to lose his new friend.

So the Arbiter reached out his hand and clasped it around 'Vadumee's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said, and it wasn't exactly a lie—he might not have been sorry about their fooling around, but he was definitely sorry he'd upset 'Vadumee. "I shouldn't have done that."

Rtas raised his eyes to the Arbiter's and the scarred Sangheili was struck by how very green they were. He nodded to accept the apology, but couldn't seem to manage any words.

The Arbiter handed him his backplate and then pulled up his jump suit, retrieved his armour, and put it back on. By the time he turned around, 'Vadumee's armour was back where it belonged.

The silence stretched between them, long and awkward. Finally the Arbiter decided that a strategic retreat was necessary. The longer he stayed around, the more uncomfortable 'Vadumee was going to get and the worse his chances were of salvaging anything from this mess.

"I'll see you," he mumbled, the words completely inadequate. "Take care."

He fumbled with the lock, finally opening the door, stepping out, and closing it behind him. He waited for a moment, but he could hear nothing through the closed door. He felt guilty, horribly guilty, and the Mark of Shame burned on his chest. Maybe the Prophets had seen it before anyone else had. Maybe they had sensed how selfish and self-centered he was.

The Arbiter trudged back to his quarters, realizing there was one thing worse than sleeping alone. It was trying to fall asleep, knowing that your bed contained a fool.


	4. Chapter 4: Regrets

**Chapter the Fourth: Regrets**

Time Setting: Prior to and during the events of Halo 2, level "Sacred Icon"

It was a good thing the stateroom door was locked, because the Arbiter and Rtas 'Vadumee were both laughing like Jackals and playing like Grunts without a care in the world.

A private dinner had somehow evolved into feeding each other tidbits of curried meat while curled up on the couch, with Rtas on the Arbiter's lap. It seemed like a natural progression to take a little nibble of one another, and both of them liked what they'd discovered. The next thing Rtas knew, his back plate was on the floor and the rest of his armour followed in short succession. When the Arbiter finally started tugging at his thigh guards Rtas couldn't wait any longer—he unzipped his jumpsuit, hands shaking with the need to get it off as quickly as possible. He almost hated having to get up long enough to shed the thing.

The Arbiter still had half his jumpsuit on, but instead of getting to work, he stopped and watched 'Vadumee with undisguised admiration.

'Vadumee found himself laughing as he wadded the thing up into a ball and tossed it across the room, right through the door of the head. For all he knew it landed in the toilet. He didn't care. He turned back to the Arbiter and grabbed hold of his jumpsuit at the waist. "Stand up," he growled.

And the Arbiter obeyed him. In seconds the Arbiter's jumpsuit had joined his.

The next thing he knew the two of them were pressed together, exploring one another. His knees were shaking, but he couldn't bear to let the Arbiter go. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this exultant, this glad to be alive…

And then the Arbiter released him. Rtas let out a little whine of disappointment.

The Arbiter clutched his hands and said, his voice a low and intense growl, "We either head to the bunk right now or we hit the floor. Your choice."

The floor was tempting because it was so immediate, but it was also scary. Rtas did not consider himself the adventurous type. And he certainly didn't want to remember his first experience with the Arbiter to be something awkward and cheap. "Bunk," he whispered and let the Arbiter pull him towards it.

The Arbiter tried to toss him into the bed. 'Vadumee grabbed the Arbiter's shoulders and pulled him down on top of him, and when the Arbiter struggled, he licked his neck until he submitted.

"Who gets the top?" he asked, his voice rasping. He suspected that the Arbiter—notorious for sleeping with half the fleet—probably liked that position. The challenge was, so did he.

He might also be convinced to like the bottom…it probably wouldn't take much convincing…but he wasn't giving in to the Arbiter so easily.

"Me," the Arbiter replied.

"You think so?" Rtas teased, his voice husky. "Seems to me that if you want to be top, you'd best be able to hold that position."

And he rolled over forcefully, so hard that he flipped the Arbiter over onto his back, and they landed on the other side of the bunk with their positions reversed. The Arbiter laughed as his shoulders slammed into the mattress.

'Vadumee wasn't sure which one of them would be on top when they got too frisky to tease each other any longer, but he honestly didn't care. He was going to win either way and…

The Arbiter was already surrendering, it seemed. 'Vadumee's hide quivered as they moved together, tighter and tighter, swaying like a dance, seeking the position where one swift thrust would…

The pillows collapsed under his weight and Rtas 'Vadumee woke up alone.

His stateroom was empty except for himself. The bowl from last night's dinner still sat on his table. But the Arbiter was gone.

Reality had gone very differently from his dream. In reality, he'd freaked out the second the Arbiter took his back armour off of him, and that had been the end of it.

At the time he'd tried to convince himself that it was just as well. The Arbiter got around, while 'Vadumee was the settling-down type. The Arbiter was looking for quick thrills, and 'Vadumee was still grieving his dead bondmate Kusovai. It would have been a brief tryst, nothing more, and the heartbreak would not have been worth it. 'Vadumee had told himself that he had not wanted to sleep with the Arbiter anyway.

His dream had convinced him otherwise.

_Know thyself. _It was one of the first things he taught to SpecOps recruits. A soldier needed to know exactly what he was capable of. He needed to know what he could accomplish on his own, when he ought to call for assistance, and when he was completely over his head. He had to be aware of his own strengths and weaknesses so he could play to his strengths and work on improving his weaknesses. He had to understand his own desires, needs, prejudices, and goals.

And Rtas 'Vadumee had been lying to himself very, very badly.

Getting angry at the Arbiter for inviting himself in, making himself at home, and doing his absolute best to get Rtas out of his armour was making excuses for the fact that Rtas had let him in, joined him for dinner, and fallen into his lap, tasting and touching and…

…and making himself frisky all over again at the idea, because glass it all, he had loved every damned second of it.

It was time to be a warrior and take some responsibility. Whether or not it was a good idea, the fact remained that he was hot for the Arbiter, and that truth would not be chased away by logic or guilt. So instead of cowering here in his quarters, hiding from life until the Arbiter had come after him and tried to seduce him out of his solitary pain, he ought to start acting like a real Sangheili. That meant making an honest assessment of what he wanted and needed and acting accordingly.

And it was assuming he hadn't already ruined it completely, and that the Arbiter hadn't just gone to the mess hall and found someone else to keep him company. The very thought made 'Vadumee feel sick, and he knew he was in a very bad situation, because if he wasn't ready to give the Arbiter what he wanted, he was sure he was going to lose him. And yet Rtas wasn't sure if he was ready to get that deeply involved. A voice hammered in his head, reminding him that he was going to feel miserable after the Arbiter inevitably dumped him for the next Sangheili to catch his eye.

He knew that. By the Rings, he was far too aware of that already. But the point remained, he was miserable _right now_. He was lonely and confused and horny as hell after last night, and maybe he could at least get some temporary help with the horny part. Surely it had to be better than hiding in his quarters waiting for the next insanely suicidal SpecOps mission to come down from the new Supreme Commander. Surely having at least _something _of the Arbiterto remember was better than having _nothing_.

Oh, by the Rings, he already had something to remember and he was going to be replaying last night in his memories every damn spare moment of the day, he just knew it. He wished he could have something, anything else to think about, because this was going to drive him mad.

He closed his eyes and wondered how it might have felt if he'd let the Arbiter take off his armour…if he'd watched the Arbiter bend down before him to take off his leg plates…to feel the air cold against his hot skin when the Arbiter peeled away his jumpsuit…to let the Arbiter look at him, and then, to touch him…_there_…where he…

His comm link buzzed with a noise so loud in the quiet room that 'Vadumee flew up out of his bunk. He covered himself with a sheet as he reached to answer, as if he feared that the individual on the other end of the line would be able to tell that he was naked and aroused.

It was Admiral Xytan 'Jar Wattinree on the line. "SpecOps Commander 'Vadumee, we have a problem."

Rtas shook his head, trying to forget things like the fact that his heart was pounding and his body was covered in sweat and his breath was rasping in and out of his chest and his shaft, which was usually tucked up inside his body unless he needed it to urinate—or to mate—was out and ready for action and didn't seem at all willing to go back where it belonged.

"What?" he managed to say.

"The Honour Guard has been decommissioned."

Wattinree was not making any sense. "What?" he repeated.

"I said _the Honour Guard has been decommissioned_." This statement confirmed for Rtas that he had indeed heard correctly, but the words still didn't make any sense.

"Since when do the Prophets suddenly not need any protection? Don they not need protection most of all in these troubled times?"

"Since they _recommissioned_ an Honour Guard composed entirely of Brutes," Wattinree said bitterly.

Just when 'Vadumee thought that he'd be permanently horny all day… All of a sudden being frisky and frustrated sounded a lot better than dealing with this unimaginable disaster.

"Many of the councillors are threatening to resign," Wattinree continued. "By the Forerunners, this could split the Covenant…and I'm not entirely sure the rogue councillors are wrong."

"Why did the Hierarchs do it?" 'Vadumee asked as his brain entered strategic mode. _Gather information…create possible solutions…run scenarios…choose a plan and see it through. _"It is not our fault that Regret is dead, and it is not our fault the Demon got away. They were the ones who made us withdraw!"

"I don't know. They will not speak to me."

Rtas 'Vadumee set what jaws he had left. "They'll speak to me." His unusual role as the leader of SpecOps gave him influence beyond his rank.

"Let me know what they say. And watch out for that Arbiter."

"The Arbiter?"

"The Arbiter is the Will of the Prophets. He might be one of us, but he belongs to them. Do not forget where his loyalty lies." Wattinree signed off.

'Vadumee was left staring at the comm unit. The Arbiter would not betray the Sangheili—he was sure of it.

But now he had something else to occupy his thoughts, and he was already sorry that his wish had come true.

*

The Arbiter walked through the hallowed halls of High Charity, noticing that in a very short day, things had changed.

A pack of Brutes was clustered around the Sangheili Honour Guards. As he walked, one of the Brutes yanked the spear from a reluctant Sangheili. An Honour Guard Ultra Elite bowed his head and handed his helm over to the Brutes, who promptly began scuffling over the right to wear it. Inside the main doors were two lines of Brutes wearing Honour Guard headgear. The long helmets, shaped for Sangheili wearers, stuck out over the Brutes' faces like beaks.

The Arbiter's creeping feeling of impending disaster was somewhat mitigated by the sound of a voice raised in argument.

"I only wish to express my concern that the Brutes…"

It was Rtas 'Vadumee. The Arbiter's heart started to pound.

He needed to talk to Rtas. He needed to apologize for being too forward the night before and gambling his most hopeful friendship since being branded with the Mark of Shame for a shot at an evening of sex. Sex partners were easy to come by; friends were not.

But this was not the time or the place for that conversation. He watched 'Vadumee try to get through to the Hierarchs, only for them to stonewall him again and again until he conceded defeat. Bowing his head, he said, "I shall relay your decision to the Council." Beaten, 'Vadumee turned on his heel to leave, flanked by two of his SpecOps commandos.

The Arbiter stared at him, knowing that 'Vadumee could not stop to talk to him, not here in front of the Hierarchs and two of his soldiers. But would Rtas stalk right by, completely ignoring him? The Arbiter wouldn't blame him if he did.

Instead, 'Vadumee gave him a nod of acknowledgement in passing. It was the first hopeful thing the Arbiter had seen all day.

The two Prophets were speaking to him. The Arbiter forced his attention to the Hierarchs, away from 'Vadumee. But as they spoke, the Arbiter could not help but agree with Rtas. It seemed that all the Elites, not just him individually, were being branded with a giant, invisible Mark of Shame for something they did not deserve. Yet the Arbiter could not figure out how the Brutes were managing to sway the San 'Shyuum in this manner.

It was a question for another time. He was being given a task: to retrieve the Sacred Icon that could unlock the power of the ring. And to restore his honour, and the honour of his people, he would not fail.

*

The Arbiter did not like riding into battle with Tartarus. He wished that he were in the SpecOps Phantom with 'Vadumee, not here with these smelly Brutes. Tartarus in particular seemed to take great delight in informing him that the Demon was on the loose on the ring. It was as though the Jiralhanae chieftan were hoping to goad him into forgetting his mission in order to chase the armoured human.

Oh, and part of him wanted to. He was disturbed by how perceptive Tartarus was—the Brute might be ugly, and barbaric, but he was not stupid, and the Arbiter would forget that fact at his own peril. In the end, though, the Arbiter knew he had to get control of his desires. Last night had taught him that much. He could not play with the Demon when the Icon was still unsecured.

And he could not lose his focus with thoughts of Rtas 'Vadumee.

*

Flood. As soon as he smelled that now-familiar odour, the Arbiter wished that 'Vadumee was here more than ever. He felt very alone as he battled his way through the hordes of zombies. Why couldn't Tartarus have sent him a pair of Jiralhanae to watch his back as he made his way forward? There'd been enough Brutes on that damned Phantom that Tartarus could have spared a few.

He couldn't believe he would have been glad to see Brutes.

But when he made his way through the wall, a beautiful sight met his eyes…Sangheili drop pods. And not just any drop pods—there were SpecOps Sangheili coming out of them.

With a roar, the Arbiter joined his battle brothers, and with plasma rifles blazing, they pressed onward towards the Library where the Icon was kept.

Down one of the narrow canyons, a base camp had been established, complete with plasma turrets. A lone figure in death-white armour was manning one of the turrets, driving back the Flood.

The Arbiter leapt into action as he saw a combat form bounce down from the cliffs and sneak up on the gunner. With one swing of his energy sword he cut the abomination in two.

The white-armoured Elite turned.

"Arbiter! What are you doing here?"

'Vadumee's expression was more surprise than pleasure, the Arbiter feared, but there was no time to talk now as they flung themselves into battle.

They were fighting side-by-side, back-to-back, and it felt so very _right_. The position of Supreme Commander was a lonely one, and it had been a long time since he'd entered battle with someone by his side. And 'Vadumee was a skilled swordsman, every bit his equal, and together they laid waste to the zombie horde.

Finally there was nothing moving on the field of battle except Sangheili, and the Arbiter had the opportunity to explain his mission.

'Vadumee nodded, and as his Elites clustered around him, he pronounced to them, "We shall cut into the heart of this infestation, retrieve the Icon, and burn any Flood that stand in our way!" His SpecOps troopers roared joyously and charged forward. The Arbiter felt that same rising wave of desire that he'd experienced in the Phantom on the way to the gas mining platform; there was something about 'Vadumee's battle speeches that thrilled him and made him want the SpecOps commander so very badly.

"The Parasite is not to be trifled with," 'Vadumee said, quietly so the other Sangheili could not overhear. "I hope you know what you're doing."

Concerned as he was about the Demon and the Flood and the Sentinels and the possibility of the humans reaching the Sacred Icon first, Rtas' words still made him feel good. They were a definite improvement over the previous mission's announcement that his life was not one of 'Vadumee's concerns. Even if 'Vadumee was not entirely convinced, he was still willing to trust the Arbiter's judgment.

There were things the Arbiter had to say to him, but not now…not yet.

Regardless, Rtas was here with him now, and together they would drive on to find the Sacred Icon, and nothing the fates could throw at them would be able to stop them.

*

During a sudden lull in the fighting, Rtas grabbed the Arbiter's shoulders and pulled him into the shelter of a nearby cave.

"What are you…" the Arbiter began.

"Flood forms?" 'Vadumee asked, looking left and right for zombies.

The Arbiter looked as well. "I don't see any."

"Good." Rtas tugged him another step back into the cave.

The two Sangheili looked at each other.

"Did you find someone else last night?" Rtas blurted.

"Do you hate me?" the Arbiter asked at the same time.

They stared at each other and then both laughed with relief.

"I didn't find someone else," the Arbiter said, as though he knew that Rtas needed to hear it.

"I don't hate you," 'Vadumee said quietly. "If anything I hate myself for being a very bad liar, to myself and to you." He put his arms around the Arbiter's waist, a gesture of acceptance and submission, and the Arbiter felt his pulse thunder and his hopes soar, because he _hadn't _ruined it after all, because it seemed he was going to have both a friend _and _a lover and by the Rings he couldn't _wait _to get 'Vadumee in bed.

"Don't hate yourself," the Arbiter replied, running his knuckles over 'Vadumee's cheek. "I know I come on strong. I was afraid…"

But 'Vadumee never got to hear what the Arbiter was afraid of, because just then a Flood form shambled from the back of the cave. It was a carrier form, and just a few meters away, it exploded, spewing little infection forms all over the place.

The two Elite Swordsmen turned as one to face the coming threat.

*

The Sangheili left a trail of dead Flood behind them as they made their way to the edge of the chasm. Leaving the SpecOps team behind to cover their back, the Arbiter and Rtas 'Vadumee emerged on the top of the gondola that would help them traverse the canyon. Through the falling ash, they saw the other gondola also begin to move.

"More humans," 'Vadumee said, sniffing the air.

The Arbiter scowled. "They must be on their way to the Icon."

Rtas nodded his agreement. "On your way, Arbiter. I'll deal with these beasts." He grinned coldly, unsheathing his plasma blade, and ran off.

Something had happened to Rtas—something good. The Arbiter didn't even mind having the SpecOps commander bark orders at him if it meant that he was getting back to his old, confident self. It was nice having someone else to protect him. It would be even nicer when this battle was over and they were locked in his stateroom, celebrating.

Tartarus' cackling voice came over the comm link. "I see that coward didn't join you. I'll do what I can to keep the Flood off your back."

The Arbiter was not entirely convinced he trusted Tartarus to watch his back, and his wisecrack about 'Vadumee's courage infuriated him. The Brute Chieftan didn't know a damn thing about how much bravery it took for Rtas to even be out here fighting the Parasite. The only thing that could overwhelm his rage at Tartarus was his fear for Rtas.

The Arbiter didn't want Rtas facing the humans without him. He wished he could ask the SpecOps commander to stay here, but of course he couldn't—if the humans would be a challenge for 'Vadumee, they'd be a worse threat to the SpecOps team without 'Vadumee's leadership. Nor could he get rid of the Brutes, because like them or not, he could use the support.

When this damned battle was over, he swore he'd keep Rtas in his stateroom, in his bed, for a day or more.

*

The Arbiter was on the verge of victory when Tartarus appeared and turned his victory to ash.

The Brutes were traitors. He had already guessed.

What he could not imagine was the fact that the San 'Shyuum were the ones behind it all…that it was not the Brutes misleading the Prophets, but the Prophets guiding the Brutes against the Sangheili.

Tartarus, still laughing, slammed the Fist of Rukt into the ground and sent the Arbiter soaring through the air and down into the abyss.

The last thought that crossed the Arbiter's mind as he fell headlong to his end was not sorrow at the ending of his life, nor bitterness at the Brutes and Prophets who had put him there. His last conscious thought was a heartfelt prayer that 'Vadumee might somehow be warned and escape the coming slaughter.


	5. Chapter 5: Wraiths

**Chapter the Fifth: Wraiths**

Time Setting: beginning of Halo 2 level "Uprising", going through to the end of level "The Great Journey"

The Arbiter had been using his last seconds of life not to mourn the fact that he had never spent the night with Rtas 'Vadumee, but rather to wish, desperately, that he could have warned Rtas of the Brutes' betrayal.

Then, abruptly, the Arbiter had been saved from death only to find himself in the grip of a tentacled horror.

After laying eyes on the Gravemind, the Arbiter felt that he was finally beginning to grasp the depths of 'Vadumee's hatred of the Flood. The thing was unspeakably repulsive, brilliantly cunning, and worst of all it was _right_. Perhaps the nobler thing to do was to let the rings fire, wiping out both the Flood and all its food, but the Arbiter was not yet ready to condemn his people to destruction. The victory of the rings would be a Pyrrhic victory indeed. Right now, the Arbiter was still able to believe in the possibility of a triumph that would see the Flood and the Brutes destroyed, and the Sangheili still standing.

The Gravemind also held the Demon in its clutches. He would even tolerate the presence of the Demon to wrest that victory from the jaws of defeat—from the spectre of total annihiliation. His own vengeance was a paltry thing next to the death of a universe.

But when the Gravemind teleported him to carry out its mission—to stop the firing of the Halos at any cost—the Arbiter found his own reason to fight on.

Just when he thought the worst had happened—every time up until now when he thought the worst was over—something more took place and sent him reeling again. Losing his rank. The Mark of Shame. The Brutes. The Prophets' betrayal. The truth about the rings. The Gravemind. And now…

The Sangheili High Councillors had been slaughered by the Jiralhanae. The ground before him was scattered with the dead bodies of Elites of all ranks. The Arbiter felt his blood grow cold, and suddenly the wrongs that had been done to him faded into insignificance. The Prophets had declared genocide upon his entire species. And they were winning.

He felt a sudden sickening kinship with the hated humans.

Pressing onward, the Arbiter gathered up the scattered Elites he came across and united them into a fighting unit. He encountered all types—Zealots, Minors, a former Honour Guard now dressed in regular combat armour, even a surviving Councillor, whose ornate headdress did not seem to hinder him as he slashed Brutes apart with an energy sword that was most definitely _not _just ceremonial.

But there was someone he did not encounter, and the Arbiter was beginning to get a horrible suspicion that Rtas 'Vadumee had been killed already.

He knew Rtas. The second he heard about the atrocity committed against the Council, Rtas would be there, plasma rifle blazing, and the Brutes…

The Arbiter didn't even want to think about it. He didn't want Rtas to die before he could properly apologize. He didn't want Rtas to die, period. The Arbiter was the one with the death sentence, not 'Vadumee.

Lost in these thoughts, the Arbiter exited the structure well in advance of his impromptu army. Up ahead, a Wraith rumbled towards him. Its weaponry swivelled in his direction…

Condemnation! The driver had sighted him. The Arbiter took one a wary step backwards, then another. He was out of grenades and he doubted that his shotgun, no matter how powerful it was at close range, could do much against a Wraith…

The hatch on top opened and when he saw the face of the driver, he could have cried.

Rtas.

Alive and uninjured and here to help him.

"By the Rings…Arbiter," Rtas said. He looked stunned…amazed…relieved… and then he snapped out of it, back to business. "The Councillors, are they…"

"Murdered," the Arbiter whispered, "by the Brutes." It was as though the words might not have been true until he spoke them aloud; now he realized just how many good Sangheili had died.

'Vadumee's righteous fury was clear to see. "Vile disloyal beasts. The Prophets were fools to trust them."

The Arbiter wanted to tell him a lot more about the Prophets, but now was not the time. A pair of Phantoms passed low overhead, and the Arbiter recognized the second craft.

Tartarus.

Tartarus was up to no good…because he had the Icon which he had taken from the Arbiter just before blasting him into the pit. If Tartarus used it, the Halo would fire and cut a swath of devastation through the stars.

The Arbiter turned to Rtas. "I must get inside."

Rtas nodded. "Then mount up, Arbiter. I know a way to break those doors."

The Arbiter tried not to read an unintended double entendre into 'Vadumee's order as the SpecOps commander jumped out of the tank. "We have to catch up to Tartarus. Quickly."

Rtas began sprinting towards another vehicle. The Arbiter lunged to grab him by the shoulder.

"I know you're angry," the Arbiter said quietly. "But this is not the time. Tartarus and the Prophets are working together and they are gambling with the fate of everything. If we lose this fight, the whole universe will pay."

'Vadumee nodded, all business because he had to be, but a low moan of discontent escaped between his mandibles.

The Arbiter took a deep breath and carefully eased his arms around Rtas' upper body. The white-armoured Sangheili tucked his head and leaned into the hug.

The whole world was going to hell around them. They didn't even have enough time for a proper hug, let alone the discussion they needed to have or the tryst they both craved.

But for now, they had each other, and with that, they could do anything.

*

'Vadumee certainly knew how to make an entrance. The SpecOps Commander had directed the Arbiter's Wraith to a docked Scarab. Now 'Vadumee's voice crackled over his radio, comfortingly familiar. "That cruiser is controlled by Brutes. I'll remain here; make sure no reinforcements get in behind you. Then I'm going to take the cruiser back." That was Rtas all the way—always watching his back, always ready to speak his own mind and take his own initiative, and always complimenting him perfectly, like the two blades of an energy sword. Strange how only a few days ago he'd not even considered Rtas a friend, let alone a consort.

Consort. That word sounded so…permanent. Consorts were people who were attached to you, not just anonymously passing through your bed. _Consort _was almost as unthinkable as bondmate. The Arbiter didn't have consorts; he had subordinates with benefits.

He sighed. In his former life as the Supreme Commander, he had had subordinates with benefits.

On the other hand, perhaps as the Arbiter he _could _have a consort, at least for a little while.

Or rather, he could have one if he defeated the Brutes, recovered the Sacred Icon, and saved the universe.

*

Rtas 'Vadumee stood on the bridge of the Covenant flagship cruiser _Punishment and Retribution_ and folded his arms.

The Grunts had dragged the corpses away, but the floor and walls of the bridge were still splattered with Jiralhanae blood. Rtas felt no guilt for that. He had hated the Brutes from the beginning, and was willing to admit that killing them brought him great satisfaction.

But the death of the High Councillors was too high a price to pay for his pleasure. Certainly Truth's mad gamble with the fate of all things living made the joy of slaying Brutes not worth its cost.

The day's events had been dizzying. The Councillors had come here to watch the consecration of the Sacred Icon that would herald the start of the Great Journey. At the time, Rtas had not quite been able to believe that the path to salvation was about to literally open in front of him, within a matter of hours. He had felt a rush of unbelievable excitement, but it had been soured by worry and longing, because if he was about to walk into paradise, he wanted to do so with the Arbiter at his side.

And then one disaster after another piled over them in a tumult, sweeping away all thoughts of a future beyond the next hour, the next minute, the next second, and changing his focus from salvation to simple survival.

They had done it—they had survived, and so had their species, and so had the universe.

But he was alone again.

He tried to contact the Arbiter, again and again, and just when he began to worry that the Arbiter might have made the supreme sacrifice to defeat Tartarus, he got a reply.

"Where are you?" 'Vadumee demanded, sounding angrier than he wanted to because of the intensity of his relief.

"On my way to Earth," said the familiar voice of the Arbiter, "with, ah, Commander Keyes and her Humans."

"Earth?" 'Vadumee demanded in disbelief.

"Think about it," the Arbiter urged. "The Prophets have betrayed us, made war on our kind with the Jiralhanae as their weapons. The Hunters are confused, the Unggoy scattered in terror. We cannot stand against the entire Covenant alone. We need allies, Rtas. I'm going to get us some."

Rtas nodded, then remembered the Arbiter could not see him. "Agreed. Then I shall speak to Admiral Xytan 'Jar Wattinree, organize our brothers to fight for our continued survival…and then I shall come to Earth as well."

"You do not need to…"

"You cannot stop me," 'Vadumee persisted. He had to get back to the Arbiter and settle things between them before the war swept them apart permanently. He could not live with himself otherwise.

Silence a while, and then…

"I would be most glad to see you." The Arbiter hesitated. "We need to...work out these circumstances between us."

'Vadumee sighed. "Would it were so easy."

*

The Arbiter shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall of the Human vessel. He did not fit their seats, so he sat on the floor. The Marines tried to pretend that they weren't staring, but he knew they were taking peeks at him. Some of them seemed curious, fascinated, while others were glaring at him with outright hostility, and he could smell the fear coming off one of their number in waves.

He cracked open an eye.

The frightened one jerked reflexively. The gawkers averted their eyes. The angry ones folded their arms, refusing to look away—they were too disciplined to attack, but their body language made it clear that they did not like him. He didn't particularly like them either, but if the Humans and the Sangheili failed to form an alliance, then the Covenant might well wipe out both species.

He wondered what 'Vadumee would make of this ship full of Humans.

Thank the Ancestors, 'Vadumee was alive. He could not wait for Rtas to get to Earth. He had no idea what Earth would be like, but surely it would have somewhere private for him and Rtas to be alone. It might even be somewhat exotic…making love on an alien world, surrounded by strange flora, under a strangely-coloured sky.

He was going to have to tread carefully, though. Rtas clearly needed to be reassured, to be coaxed beyond his boundaries carefully and temptingly. In short, seduction would be the order of the day, and that was going to be a challenge indeed on an alien world where winning 'Vadumee's willing cooperation was not going to be as easy as a bowl of shredded meat.

But the Arbiter loved a challenge.

What he needed to do was to get Rtas so aroused that he wouldn't think. That way 'Vadumee wouldn't think twice, wouldn't think about Kusovai, wouldn't be able to invent a reason to stop when it was clear that his body wanted the Arbiter as much as the Arbiter wanted him. And the best way to do that would be to catch him in a situation where his armour was already off, so that he wouldn't freak out again at the thought of losing it.

He didn't know if Humans had showers. He didn't know if they even bathed. They looked sort of like short, bald, undernourished Jiralhanae, and everyone knew Brutes never washed themselves.

But even if Humans didn't clean themselves, Sangheili did, and so all he had to do was catch Rtas at it and offer ever so innocently to wash his back.

He wouldn't wait for an answer. He'd just start, and leave it to 'Vadumee to say no. And he knew that 'Vadumee would not say no. Touching and stroking and massaging…it was bound to get 'Vadumee aroused, and when that happened, when his shaft emerged…the Arbiter would touch him there, with moist hands, and then…

Sangheili had a special spot, right on the back of the neck where the neck and back joined. One good nip in this place would make the whole body relax. It was theorized that the sweet spot had evolved for mothers, who would routinely hold their hatchlings there—with the infant's body limp and unresisting, it would not struggle and flail and tear its skin open on its mother's fangs. It would dangle from her jaws and let her move it to a place of safety.

As the Sangheili developed from beasts into sentients, the sweet spot took on another meaning among adults, as an indicator of power relationships. It was said that in the dawning ages of Sangheili culture, kings would nip their subjects to illustrate their dominance, and teachers would use the bite to show their authority over students.

But with the coming of the Prophets, things changed.

Since the San 'Shyuum and the Sangheili were enemies before they were allies, a certain degree of tension between the species remained, and the Sangheili were reluctant to show this weakness in front of another species. Biting in public became something very uncivilized, a shameful behaviour, a vestige of barbarism. And so the sweet spot went behind closed doors once a Sangheili grew out of infancy, and in doing so, it became something erotic and exciting.

So the Arbiter had every intention of giving Rtas 'Vadumee one good sound nip right on that sweet spot, knowing it would send a shockwave through his nervous system and drop him to his knees, placing him in the perfect position for…

"Mount up, Arbiter" indeed.

The Arbiter smiled to himself as the human ship winged its way towards Earth. It was good to have a plan.


	6. Chapter 6: Comrades

**Chapter the Sixth: Comrades**

Time Setting: during the first level of Halo 3, "Sierra 117"

The Arbiter took a deep breath of jungle air, thick with moisture and the heavy scent of growing things, and tried not to think too uncharitably about Humans.

An individual Human was no match for a Sangheili warrior in hand-to-hand combat. It was the root of the reason why Sangheili looked down on Kig-yar, Unggoy, and Yanme'e—the lesser species. But unlike the lesser species of the Covenant, Humans did not know their place in the natural order of things, and they didn't seem inclined to learn. Instead, they grouped together in packs like Brutes, succeeding through numbers and cooperation rather than individual prowess. In its own way, it was almost admirable. They were still alive, after all, despite years of the Covenant's best attempts to wipe them out.

But they were still savages, with their primitive weapons and gibbering language and absolutely alien beliefs and practices.

And then there was the Demon.

The Arbiter had already developed a grudging respect for the Demon's battle skills, but by the Rings, it was as though he was being handed a punishment from Beyond, to have to work _alongside_ the Demon.

The Human herd took a break for lunch. The Marines threw themselves down on rotting logs and patches of earth, getting rest while they had the chance and pulling pouches of food out of their rucksacks and pants pockets. The Arbiter noticed that none of the Marines were sitting too close to where he stood, though the dark-skinned leader approached him and offered him some sort of grain bar to eat.

The stuff smelled like prey-animal fodder, but the Arbiter chose to interpret the offer as a gesture of politeness, because all the humans were eating those bars. "Thank you, Sergeant Johnson, but meat would be a more suitable meal."

Sergeant Johnson eyed the Arbiter's razor fangs and nodded. "If you don't want to catch your own, go talk to the Chief. I think he's got some bags of chili."

Catching his own did sound good, but the Arbiter had no idea what Earth animals might be edible and which might make him ill, nor did he have any way of finding out in time to have some lunch before they were on the move again. Deciding it was better to be safe than sorry, the Arbiter made his way to where the Demon sat.

The Sangheili noticed that none of the Marines were sitting too close to the Demon, either.

And the Demon wasn't eating. Instead, he was staring down at a small square device in his hand.

The Arbiter cleared his throat, but the Demon—usually hyper-vigilant—did not seem to register his presence.

"De...Chief," the Arbiter began.

The featureless helmet turned towards him. "What?"

The Spartan's voice did not sound particularly friendly. The Arbiter noted that his first encounter with the Demon here on Earth had resulted in the muzzle of the Chief's gun being shoved up through his chin.

Then again, the Arbiter had not exactly tried to stop himself from threatening the Demon, even when both of them had been in the clutches of the Gravemind.

So, willing to call it even between them, the Arbiter sat down near the Master Chief. "Sergeant Johnson says you have meat. Something called...chili."

The Chief slid the little square device back into a slot at the rear of his helmet; then he opened a Marine rucksack he'd been carrying. He withdrew a foil package and threw it at the Arbiter, who caught it, reflexively, before realizing that it wasn't a frag grenade or some such.

"How do I eat this?" the Arbiter asked, sniffing at it. He smelled metal and chemicals, not meat.

The Master Chief looked in both directions, then raised his hands to his helmet seal. "Just a minute." The Arbiter heard the hiss of air as the seal broke, and then the Demon lifted the helmet off of his head.

The Arbiter wasn't exactly sure what he had been expecting. Part of him had imagined the Demon with fangs and leathery skin and earbuds, like a Sangheili, because it was hard to believe that a mere human was capable of the damage the Demon had inflicted. Another part of him expected the Demon to look like the Covenant idea of a devil—a being accursed, sporting stubby horns and cracked, bleeding hide and a hairy face and Marks of Punishment branded everywhere.

The sight that met his eyes was a Human being, just another Human, and were it not for the fact that his skin was much paler and smoother than that of the other Humans—the result of being hidden behind the helmet most of the time instead of exposed to the light—and the MJOLNIR armour he wore, the Arbiter would not have been able to pick the Demon out of a crowd of other Humans.

"Here," the Master Chief said, ripping open a foil pouch and dropping a long spoon into it. "It's cold, but if we start a fire, the Brutes might see the smoke."

The Arbiter accepted the open pouch. He withdrew the spoon and sniffed at it. He could smell some kind of plant in the "chili", but he could also smell meat and some kind of spice that made him drool.

He wasn't at all sure how to use the spoon.

The Arbiter watched as the Master Chief opened his own pouch, added something called "hot sauce," and dipped the spoon into the mixture. Apparently the utinsel was designed to deposit food in the bottom jaw. The Arbiter shrugged, tilted the chili pouch on its side, tipped back his head, flared his mandibles and poured a bit of the stuff down his throat.

To his surprise, it wasn't all that terribly disgusting. He wriggled his mandibles experimentally.

"This really helps."

The Arbiter lowered his head to see the Master Chief offering the package of hot sauce.

"We put this on all the food," the Chief explained. "So it at least has _some_ flavour."

"Thank you, De…ah, Spartan."

The Chief raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome, and is "Arbiter" a name or a rank?"

"It's a title." He drank more chili out of the pouch, and it really was better with the hot sauce. "I do not have a name."

"I thought you guys did. Elites, I mean."

"We do. I…lost mine."

The Master Chief blinked. "Really." A pause. "Me too."

Now it was the Arbiter's turn to look at him quizically. "How?"

He shrugged. "I was taken for Spartan training at a very young age. I don't even remember my parents' last name."

The Arbiter felt a strange feeling of empathy, and he could not quite keep the growl from his voice as he said, "They took your family name away."

"Yeah." The Chief looked surprised that the Arbiter understood. "All I have left is my given name. My parents…they named me "John."

"I have lost my entire name."

"To be the Arbiter?"

"In a way."

The Chief was still looking at him, so he decided to give it to him with both barrels. "Historically, the title "Arbiter" surpasses all other ranks and names. But prior to that, I lost my name as a punishment—for not stopping _you _from destroying the first Halo."

"So that's why you hate my guts so much."

The Arbiter sighed. "It's worse that I can no longer blame you for destroying that Halo."

"Still sucks." John stirred the last of his chili. "I bitch about photo ops and the rest of that "hero" crap, but at the end of the day I know they appreciate what I've done." His eyes darted towards the Sangheili. "Sorry, buddy. You've got the worse deal."

The Arbiter shrugged. "You can consider yourself fortunate that for the time being, the Prophet of Truth, his Brutes, and the Flood are all greater dangers to my people than you are."

"Well, that cuts me down to size." He finished the chili and began to dig a hole. "Eat your lunch and give me the wrapper. We have to bury them so the Brutes and their buddies will have a harder time tracking us."

The Arbiter guzzled the last of his chili and handed the pouch and the unused spoon to John. The Spartan placed them in the hole, filled it with earth, and scattered leaves over the top to hide the newly disturbed ground. Then he picked up his helmet and placed it back on his head. Suddenly he was the Demon again, his expression obscured by the gold-tinted visor.

The other Humans were still eating. John sat down with his back against a tree, pulled the little square-shaped device out of his helmet and began to toy with it once more. The Arbiter squinted at it. To him, it looked like the Sangheili Intelligence images of a Human AI cartridge, save for the fact that there was no holographic avatar atop it.

"Is it broken?" the Arbiter asked abruptly.

The Spartan tilted his head. "It's…unoccupied."

The Arbiter frowned, puzzled. It seemed like an odd time and place to be worried about a mechanical device. "Why are you so concerned about a computer program?" He gestured to the disk.

John scowled at him. "Cortana's a lot more than just a computer program. And you should be able to guess that I'm not supposed to be talking about AIs with you."

"You mean the fact that it's absolutely forbidden for you to let an AI fall into enemy hands? The fact that Spartans can join with AIs, creating two intelligences in one body, a body which is partly artificial itself? Or the fact that you build them by copying the brain patterns of real human beings, which gives them a unique personality of their own?"

John stared at him.

He smirked. "Sangheili intelligence is good."

The Spartan continued to eye him warily. "It's the last of those items that's the concern."

The Arbiter could not see John's expression, but the faintest of odours began to filter from the Spartan. He smelled agitated. "So you consider her to be a person."

"She's not, I know that. Or rather, she's not _just_ a person. She's a weapon and a knowledge source and a powerful technological tool."

"But when she's in your head, she's a person."

John hesistated. "Yeah."

"And where is she now?"

The Spartan let out a long, slow exhalation that whistled through the voice transmitter on his helmet. "On High Charity. She stayed behind so that she could make sure that the ring didn't fire, and that the Flood didn't escape."

"And you left her there."

"She told me to!" he snapped. "She said she didn't want to chance a remote detonation—do you think I wanted to leave her there?" He looked as though he might reach out and try to grab the Arbiter's throat, or throw a punch or otherwise forget what "truce" meant.

The Arbiter raised his hands in a mimicry of the Human gesture for "surrender." "Speaking between two soldiers such as ourselves, I did not intend to insinuate that you _desired_ to leave her behind."

The Spartan lowered his arms, and his agitated scent began to fade.

"War often causes us to do things we wished we did not need to do," the Arbiter continued.

"Yeah? What have _you_ done lately that you didn't want to do? Other than get chewed out for letting me kick your troops' collective asses?" The Arbiter swore he could _hear _the Chief's raised eyebrow.

The Arbiter really didn't want to talk about it, but having accidentally insulted and upset the Human, he felt that he was obliged to be honest. "There are places I would much rather be at the moment than here on your planet, chasing Brutes through the trees."

"Like where?" John asked.

"My concern is not so much a place, as a person."

There was a knowing pause. "You've got someone back on your homeworld, don't you."

The Arbiter folded his arms, "I _might_ have someone in the Sangheili Fleet of Retribution—and if it weren't for this war, I would be back there right now making _sure _of it."

John whistled. "Sounds serious." And that quickly, they were back to being comrades in arms again.

The Arbiter winced. He really didn't like the sound of that word, serious. Fil Storamee had lectured him about that, too; well, to hell with it. How was he supposed to know if he was "serious" about Rtas 'Vadumee when he had no idea what the other Elite was even like in bed?

On the other hand, he knew damn well that not a single one of his previous flings was thinking about him right now, wondering if he was all right. Rtas, on the other hand, would be climbing the walls in his stateroom with worry—the SpecOps commander was all cool control in front of his men, but privately...privately, he was just so _intense_.

The Arbiter supposed that as long as he translated "serious" into "target of ongoing sexual encounters" instead of "bondmate" or "consort" or even "boyfriend," as the Humans put it, then "serious" might be all right. He had to admit that it was nice to be able to sit here and think about someone, and look forward to seeing that person again.

"So spill," John said, his eyes shining. "Who is she?"

"He," the Arbiter corrected.

John's expression was unreadable as he tilted his head, but the Arbiter could tell that the Spartan was staring at him through his visor.

"What?" came a loud voice from behind him.

The Arbiter turned his head to see Sergeant Johnson standing there, mouth open, eyes huge, hand raised to hold his cigar—except that the cigar was not in his hand. It was smoldering on the forest floor.

"Tell me I did NOT just hear that our alien buddy here is a faggot," said Johnson.

The Arbiter tilted his head. "What's a…"

But the Master Chief interrupted. "Look, what do you care? If he's got someone at home, he's not going to be asking you out on a date."

The Arbiter's mandibles quivered. He'd never had anyone make an automatic presumption that he was the faithful type.

But somehow the expression on Sergeant Johnson's face convinced the Arbiter that now was not a good time to point out that he'd had experience juggling four or five consorts at a time. The sergeant's look was a bizarre mixture of fear, disgust and relief.

Besides…if it meant more time with Rtas…maybe being faithful for a little while wouldn't be so bad.

The Arbiter realized, suddenly, that he had nothing to prove that he and 'Vadumee were a couple. Nothing like that little holo of 'Vadumee and Kusovai that hung in the SpecOps lounge under the portrait of old Commander 'Coradee. All the Arbiter had on his comm unit was the same profile image of Rtas that anyone could download off the Sangheili personnel roster files; he'd put it there during the flight to Earth, just so he could look at 'Vadumee's face before going to sleep.

It was a far cry from the sort of tokens that lovers gave each other. 'Vadumee's sword had been a loan, not a gift. The Arbiter still remembered how the hilt had felt in his hands; how he had felt to have been given 'Vadumee's faith that he would succeed in his crazy mission and return the blade. The Arbiter wished he still had it. He hoped that 'Vadumee still had faith in him.

He wished he had 'Vadumee's sword now. It would be the next best thing to having 'Vadumee himself.

Sergeant Johnson was trying to get his composure back. The Arbiter decided that the wisest thing to do right now was to agree with the Master Chief. Whatever a "faggot" was, it didn't seem like a good thing to be around Sergeant Johnson. He nodded and said, "I hope you're not offended, Sergeant, if I say you're not my type."

Sergeant Johnson swallowed. "Good…good then. I guess as long as you keep shooting Brutes off my back the way you've been doing, I don't care who you sleep with…but I do NOT want to have to hear about it."

"Then don't sneak up on him and listen in," the Chief said, folding his arms.

Johnson gave the Chief a strange look. "If your tastes run like his, I REALLY don't want to hear about it," he said, and turned away. "Let's go, people, there are Brutes out there all ready and waiting for us to come kick their asses!"

The Arbiter turned to the Spartan. "Thank you."

The Master Chief shrugged. "I'm in love with a computer program. You think people wouldn't call me sick, if they knew?"

The Arbiter nodded. "If you would like help teaching those people to hold their tongues, you need only to ask."

The Chief began to explain what a "faggot" was and the Arbiter listened in disbelief. To a Sangheili, bisexuality was just plain _normal_, and though there were some Elites who only sought intimate company outside their own gender in breeding season, nobody cared as long as the fertile ones met their legal obligation to reproduce every other year. What was _wrong_ with Humans, to condemn private relations between consenting adults?

Then his comm link crackled.

"Arbiter?" came a familiar voice over the line.

It was 'Vadumee. The Arbiter's heart leapt as he raised the comm link to his mandibles. "Receiving."

John nodded a farewell and turned away, heading to the forefront of the group of Marines to take point as they moved out, leaving the Arbiter to cover the rear. Suddenly the Arbiter felt lucky. John had no idea how his loved one was faring. The Arbiter was no longer convinced that of the two of them, he had the worst deal.

Then 'Vadumee asked a question that knocked all other thoughts out of his head. "You haven't mated with any Humans, have you?"

The Arbiter choked. Just how bad had his reputation become? "No," he retorted. Thank the Forerunners Johnson hadn't overheard that!

"Are you sure? Because from what I've heard, Humans carry all sorts of nasty sexually transmitted diseases, and if you've mated with one, I'm not getting within ten yards of you until you've had a thorough medical examination, just in case any of those things can cross species lines."

The Arbiter scowled. "No. I can assure you I've not mated with any Humans whatsoever. Would you believe that Humans have a derogatory slur word to describe a male who mates with other males? As if it was _unusual_…no, make that _deviant_. The species must be either boring in bed or else terrible liars, and I'm not sure which…"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "What about those two Sangheili you took to Earth with you? N'tho and Usze?"

"No!" the Arbiter snapped. "If you must know, I'm hoping that we can…"

Suddenly the comm crackled with a noise that sounded like a loud, rude imitation of a Grunt in heat, followed by howling laughter and 'Vadumee shouting at someone to shut _up _already.

The Arbiter was glad that 'Vadumee could not see his smirk. "Associating with Fil Storamee, are you?" That laugh was unmistakeable. The Arbiter felt a sudden thankfulness that Fil had survived the purge.

'Vadumee's scowl came across the comm with crystal clarity. "She has been doing that for the past two hours, so I want you to be _very grateful_ for what I've had to put up with to come see you."

The Arbiter had just started to chuckle when the laugh died between his mandibles. "Coming to see..?" His heart stopped leaping and started hammering wildly.

"You said you'd forged an alliance with the Humans. If that's true, we need to combine our military strategy, to make sure we're not working at cross purposes to one another. I need to meet with the Humans' Lord Hood right away…I'm sure you can arrange that for me? Because Fil and I are in a Watchtower shuttlecraft and we are inbound for Earth."

Humans were so strange. A Sangheili general belonged on the front line with his troops, while Human generals seemed to be so busy with administrative challenges—not to mention so frail with old age—that they could not fight with their soldiers. But Sergeant Johnson had assured him that he would be meeting with Hood shortly. He figured he'd better ask again, because now there was a time limit.

His pulse sparked. And he'd be seeing 'Vadumee.

"I'll call you back shortly," he replied, and jogged to catch up to the rear of the platoon.

No, he was definitely better off than the Master Chief.


	7. Chapter 7: Clashes

**Chapter the Seventh: Clashes**

Time setting: Halo 3, before the level "Crow's Nest;" under the presumption there was some brief down time during that level

Rtas 'Vadum—having now rejected the honorary Covenant suffix to his name—felt his back press into something that felt a lot like a coathanger. The janitor's closet in the Crow's Nest base was dark and dusty, smelled of cleaning solution, and was a far better place for a Grunt than a Sangheili SpecOps commander.

Then the Arbiter ran his mandibles over 'Vadum's and Rtas suddenly had trouble keeping his thoughts in order. Nice boys from Iruiru didn't make out in janitor's closets…so what in the Forerunners' holy names was he doing here?

Rtas 'Vadum's old job description went far beyond insane. Sangheili SpecOps personnel did orbital drops, riding little metal pods from starships into the atmosphere of hostile alien planets, where, upon landing, hordes of angry aliens usually did their best to plug them full of lead from primitive projectile weaponry—barbaric, but no less lethal for it—oh, and had he mentioned the zombie death spores? And as their Commander, 'Vadum had believed that his position wasn't at a desk safely behind the lines. He belonged at the vanguard of the assault.

His new job description, as the Admiral of the Sangheili Military (and de facto war leader of the Separatists, second only to the Arbiter) was not an improvement.

When your professional life comprised that kind of madness, 'Vadum believed it only made sense to seek a quiet, stable, relaxing sort of private life. He had experienced only three intimate relationships in his life, two of them long-term, the other a sorely regretted mistake, and until now the best of these had been with Subcommander Kusovai. He and Kusovai had understood one another, complimented one another. 'Vadum's life as Kusovai's bondmate had been a comfortable, reassuring experience—what was wrong with that? It wasn't as though he didn't get enough unpredictable chaos at work. Thrills were overrated.

And then Kusovai had died in battle and left him devastated and vulnerable to the attentions of someone who was _entirely _the wrong sort of person for SpecOps Commander 'Vadum. But after the Brutes had slaughtered most of the Elite High Councillors and the Prophets had declared war against the Sangheili, the situation started looking somewhat different.

Rtas had heard rumours that the Arbiter had been killed. He remembered how sick he'd felt about putting off the Arbiter's advances, how the one thought running through his head was that he'd squandered his chance and lost it forever. Now he knew that no matter how badly he was going to feel when their affair reached its inevitable end, he'd hate himself forever if he didn't make the most of every moment.

Which is how he'd ended up in a janitor's closet on the planet Earth, missing half his armour.

The Arbiter laughed quietly as he nuzzled 'Vadum's earbud. "Reminds me of cadet training."

'Vadum stared at him.

His partner grinned. "Didn't you do this in cadet training?"

Rtas' mandibles—and stumps—worked helplessly as he struggled to form words. He finally choked out, "Mating's not allowed! For cadets." The young Arbiter had gone to the War College in Tnoknsig, not Iruiru where 'Vadum had attended schooling, but that rule was in effect everywhere. Sangheili who were not initiated warriors did not have the privileges afforded to legal adults, one of which was sanctioned permission to mate.

The Arbiter continued to look smug. "Which is why you do it in a closet. Or an engine room. Or, if all the officers are busy enough elsewhere, in the Commandant's office."

'Vadum's jaws couldn't drop any lower. "In the…Commandant's…?" His voice was a squeal.

The Arbiter _had _to be making that up just to get a rise out of him.

"Now I see why they branded you a heretic," Rtas said with a grin, poking the Arbiter in the ribs.

"Are you telling me," the Arbiter whispered, "that you seriously waited until you graduated before you started mating?"

"Well," 'Vadum said defensively (it was hard to form a coherent sentence when the Arbiter's hands were skirting lower and lower on his body), "I'd _made out _with people while I was at the Academy…"

He wasn't a prude, was he? Cadets weren't supposed to be having any sexual contact at all. He knew the Commandant would have been displeased to find out that Rtas had spent half his senior survival exercise enjoying heavy petting with his consort, Anno 'Ahpamee, in his tent. He and 'Ahpamee had been close for almost three years at that point, and finally, finally they had enough uninterrupted private time that they could explore one another thoroughly instead of just arranging a lot of "accidental" brushings against each other in the showers….

…meanwhile, at another war college, the Arbiter was having sex in the Commandant's office. And the Arbiter was chuckling at him right now. Yes. He was a prude.

He felt his hackles rise, defensively. "I didn't tell you what I did on the night I _graduated _from the War College. My consort and I went out to the hot springs that night and made love in the light of the moons, the first time for both of us…it was a very special time." He looked at the Arbiter and his smile faded away.

The Arbiter looked…sad somehow. The other Sangheili stepped closer and laid his head on 'Vadum's shoulder. Rtas hesitated, but this didn't seem to be a prank; when Rtas put his arms around him, the Arbiter cuddled close. 'Vadum felt suddenly guilty when he realized his bragging might have hurt his consort.

"I slept with someone on my graduation night too," the Arbiter said quietly. "Actually a few someones. I don't remember any of their names now. I do know…I do know one of them, I didn't even like him all that much, but he was there and willing and I thought why not…" He swallowed, hard. "And there was someone else, a loyal and loving cadet a year younger than me…and I broke his heart that night."

"Everybody's got to be something," 'Vadum whispered softly. "You're a heartbreaker."

"And you're very perceptive, which makes me wonder, why are you in this closet with me?"

'Vadum didn't know what to say: that he was addicted, that he'd never forgive himself if either of them died without getting together, or that he'd somehow along the way started to have unplanned feelings for the Sangheili who'd finally made him feel alive again after his bondmate died? He didn't want to say anything flippant and he was afraid to say the word "love," because if he did, the Arbiter was going to bolt and never come back. He knew his consort's Rule #1—no long term relationships—and had come to accept that he was going to have to deal with the inevitable outcome if he wanted to ever have any intimate time with the Arbiter at all.

"Where's your first lover now?" the Arbiter asked suddenly.

"Jealous?" 'Vadum teased.

"Curious."

"Dead." That made…what, three dead ex-lovers now? 'Vadum sighed and tried not to think about it. "We broke up first," he offered, trying to let the Arbiter know that his situation then hadn't been as bad as his recent one with Subcommander Kusovai. But he didn't want to be a downer. "Distract me," he offered, urging the Arbiter's hands back to his chest—then he found himself reeling when the Arbiter practically ripped the jumpsuit off him.

"We're not going to have sex in this closet, are we?" 'Vadum asked abruptly while he could still think straight.

"Why not?" the Arbiter replied with a grin.

Rtas spluttered. "I don't want my first time with you to be in a closet. I want to do it properly."

"In case you haven't noticed, this base is swarming with Humans and, just like Grunts, Humans get in everywhere. Meanwhile, the Brutes are trying to kill us, the rest of the Covenant hates us, the Humans aren't entirely convinced we're on their side now, and sometimes there's Sentinels flying around." He didn't even mention the Flood. "Where are we going to find a quiet room and a few uninterrupted hours?"

Rtas felt a sudden pressure again. On one hand, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he did not want to die without having his chance with the Arbiter. On the other hand, he knew the Arbiter wasn't the sticking-around type and if both of them did their dying later rather than sooner, 'Vadum didn't want to squander the time he did have on quickies in closets.

And then there was a knocking on the door.

Rtas and the Arbiter stared at each other, wide-eyed. The Arbiter immediately knelt down, hiding behind a jumble of garbage cans. Rtas was still frozen in shock like a rookie under fire for the first time. The Arbiter reached up and pulled his consort down beside him.

A Human opened the door, threw something into the room, turned out the light and closed the door again.

"We almost got caught," Rtas hissed. "Do you think the Humans are going to respect us at all if they find the ambassadors of an alien civilization rutting like animals in their closets?"

The Arbiter peered at 'Vadum. In the dim light he could see…a banana peel hanging off his consort's snout.

The Arbiter started snickering, Rtas scowled, shook off the peel and zipped his jumpsuit back up, and the mood in the closet was well and truly ruined.

*

Fighting on Earth alongside Humans had proven very educational for the Arbiter. One of the first things the Arbiter learned was that Humans were a species of sexually deviant perverts.

On the flight from Delta Halo to Earth, he had overheard a group of ODSTs talking. He could not understand the gist of what they were saying, so he turned to Sergeant Johnson and innocently inquired as to what the word "blowjob" meant.

The black man almost swallowed his cigar, and nearby humans broke into riotous laughter. Finally one of the Marines calmed down enough to explain.

The Arbiter had been shocked and disgusted. He couldn't imagine any Elite ever doing anything like that. The very thought of his genitals anywhere near the hundred razor fangs found in a Sangheili's mouth gave him the shivers.

It took him the better part of a day before he was able to make himself think about it from a Human point of view. They had only one moving jaw and their teeth were nowhere near as sharp. Their species was probably able to accomplish the act with far less danger. He wasn't sure he'd trust a Sangheili to it though—not even one with half his mandibles missing.

That realization spawned far more intriguing thoughts. If one was careful, and kept his mandibles still and slid his tongue out the bottom of his face, through the gap between the mandibles and the throat hole, and his partner was to put himself within reach of the tongue…now _that _had the potential to be interesting. And it was one thing that absolutely none of his former lovers had ever tried with him before.

He wondered if he could talk Rtas into being adventurous.

The Arbiter sighed, wondering if he could talk Rtas into _anything_ beyond making out and groping through their jumpsuits. Just when he thought he'd finally won a victory in admitting the SpecOps commander to admit that he was sexually interested in him, he found himself trying to deal with this—the fact that Rtas was so damned straight-laced that he wouldn't even consider sex in a closet.

Or in a Warthog.

Or on Miranda Keyes' desk.

Or in any of the other hundred and one odd, semi-public, uncomfortable places where he and 'Vadum had been able to grab a few uninterrupted moments.

Now Rtas and Fil Storamee were aboard a Watchtower shuttlecraft on their way back to _Shadow of Intent_, and the Arbiter _still_ hadn't gotten any.

Forerunners damn it! He was so damn horny that even the _Humans _were starting to look good, but if he as so much as made a suggestive comment and Rtas heard it, he could forget _ever_ getting lucky with the one person he really wanted.

War was hell. In so very, very many different ways.

*

Back on the second Halo, Rtas 'Vadum had succeeded in leading a team of Elites to capture a carrier from the Brutes. The first thing he had done after that was head to Earth. He felt that he needed to support the Arbiter in forging an alliance with the Humans.

What he ended up finding was the Arbiter working with none other than the thrice-damned Demon.

'Vadum wasn't sure what he felt about that. He disliked humans at the best of times; the fact that the Demon was now apparently the Arbiter's battle brother had him seething with jealousy. Why was he stuck dealing with stupid details like the organization of the breakaway Sangheili military when he ought to be fighting at his consort's side? He sincerely hoped that Admiral Xytan 'Jar Wattin could hold the Sangheili armed forces together, because he, Rtas 'Vadum, was going to get his priorities straight and make sure that his SpecOps forces gave the Arbiter the support he needed.

Now, Rtas paced around the bridge of the _Shadow of Intent_, wishing he was back on Earth with the Arbiter. He wished he'd stayed longer, but the Flood needed burning, lest they break out of High Charity's quarantine and infect the galaxy…and he didn't dare wait around for the Arbiter to…

He was doing it again. It was just like when he'd first suspected the Arbiter was sexually interested in him; instead of _doing_ something about it, he'd hidden in his quarters, made the Arbiter pursue him, then freaked out when the Arbiter got a little too aggressive a little too quickly for his tastes.

Now the Arbiter was doing his best to mate with him, and all he was doing was complain about how this place was too uncomfortable or that place was too exposed and putting his consort off every time. Sooner or later the Arbiter was going to get frustrated and find someone else—or one or the both of them would get killed by Brutes or Flood or disgruntled Humans or get barbecued along with the rest of the universe if a Halo ring fired.

No, it was time to start acting like a Sangheili warrior and take control of the situation.

'Vadum activated his comm link.

A rough voice came over the line. "Stores…and Mess, Maintenance, and Accommodations. How can I help you?"

Rtas couldn't help a smile. Fil Storamee, the surly Chief Quartermaster of the former Fleet of Particular Justice, had survived the Jiralhanae betrayal. What she'd been doing on Delta Halo he didn't know, but he guessed that the Quartermaster—responsible for all the "stuff" that an army needed, including vehicles—had simply borrowed a Banshee and slipped down to the Halo to check out the alleged start of the Great Journey for herself. On his way to take back the carrier from the Brutes, he'd encountered Storamee standing on a pile of dead Jiralhanae, brandishing a chieftan's gravity hammer, asking the skies if they had any more where those came from.

Storamee was ill-mannered and bad-tempered and certifiably insane, but Rtas had been glad to have her with him. Despite her faults, she was unshakeably reliable …and she'd developed a disturbing proficiency with that hammer. Now she was a jack-of-all-trades, handling a multitude of tasks aboard _Shadow of Intent_. The _Shadow's_ mess was pretty awful—she oversaw the staff, but didn't give them any tips; on the other hand, at least she didn't try to cook herself—but other than that, he was glad to have her.

"This is the Shipmaster speaking," he replied, and tried to think of how to phrase his request.

Before he could voice it, she interrupted him. "Hey, on a scale of one to ten, with one being "not that disgusting" and ten being "extremely disgusting," how gross is fillet-of-Brute for dinner?"

Rtas rolled his eyes at the tasteless joke—at least he hoped to the Ancestors that she was joking. With Fil you never knew. "Eleven for "unspeakably disgusting." And would you pay attention? I need you to do me a favour."

"A favour, eh?" He could hear the edge in her voice. "Like a war related favour? That's called an _order_."

"No, not an order. An…ah…personal favour."

"Oooooohkay. Yeah, I'll do it. But you'll owe me."

'Vadum felt suddenly embarrassed. He knew he was never going to hear the end of this. The Arbiter had better appreciate his sacrifice, he thought as he said, "I need you to do up my stateroom for me."

"What, like make your bed? Do I look like a Grunt?"

"No, I mean do it up _nicely_. Fire-bowls, something that smells nice, clean sheets, the whole works. Do it up like…" His throat closed off. "Do it up like it's breeding season," he choked.

Fil's evil chuckle came over the comm.

"Storamee, you're the only one who could possibly scrounge up something halfway nice on this ill-equipped, battle-battered ship. Please. I swear I'll do whatever you ask if you can accomplish this."

"Oh yeah, I can do this," she replied. "But you are going to owe me _big time_."

"Agreed."

She clicked off without another word. 'Vadum was left staring at the comm, wondering if she'd be able to do a decent job, and worrying about what in the name of the Ancestors she could possibly want from him in return.

Now all he needed was an excuse to take the _Shadow of Intent_ to Earth.

"Shipmaster!" cried 'Otsodee from his position at the helm. "Picket reports a Flood vessel has broken free of the quarantine and is initiating a Slipspace maneuver!"

'Vadum looked at the computers predicting the ship's trajectory. Earth. He might have known.

Rtas winced, wondering when he was going to stop making ill-advised wishes.

*

The second the _Shadow of Intent_ entered Earth orbit, 'Vadum commed the Arbiter. "Arbiter. I'm bringing the _Shadow_ to pick you up." He set his mandibles. The thought of all those Flood—squirming tentacles, waving ciliae, deadly spores—near his Arbiter made his skin go cold and prickly.

"I cannot leave! The Flood must be contained." The Arbiter's voice sounded concerned, as if he thought Rtas was losing it.

But it wasn't Rtas who wasn't thinking straight. 'Vadum knew damned well what the Parasite could do. To hell with the Humans; 'Vadum had Sangheili to protect.

"They will be. As soon as you're aboard, I'm glassing the planet." He punched a button, hailing the Shipmaster aboard _Punishment and Retribution_. _Shadow of Intent _alone couldn't glass a whole planet. He'd need a small fleet for that.

"No," the Arbiter protested. "This is the last world with a human population—we saw to that. If we destroy Earth, do you think the handful of human survivors would ever forgive us? We will lose the only allies we have."

"And if we do _not _destroy Earth, if _any _Flood escape, we may lose our _own _people. We could lose Sanghelios."

"Please," the Arbiter said, "I'm begging you to reconsider. Glass Africa, if you must, but surely the parasite could not have spread to other continents already. Use your weapons like a scalpel to cut out this cancer, not as a cudgel to destroy everything, the healthy with the sick."

"I'm evacuating you," 'Vadum said sternly.

"I will not _go_ until you swear to me that you will not wipe out this planet."

Forerunners _damn_ him, the Arbiter was stubborn and played dirty. Could he gamble with the survival of all life in the universe? Damn him! It would serve him right to get glassed.

Which was foolish talk and Rtas knew it, because he could never give the attack order knowing the Arbiter was still down there. He had barely survived the experience of killing Kusovai with his own hands. He doubted that he could have done it had Kusovai not been possessed by the Flood and posing an immediate threat to him. He knew beyond question that if he killed the Arbiter, he would not be able to live with himself afterwards.

"I swear it," Rtas 'Vadum said, defeated.

*

Lord Hood's outrage was obvious. 'Vadum tried to remember that the Human general had probably not battled the Parasite face-to-face and therefore could not understand the gravity of the situation, but he was fast losing patience. The message given by the Master Chief's construct made his course of action clear.

'Vadum leaned back in his seat. "We've heard enough. Our fight is through the Portal, with the Brutes and the bastard Truth!" All around, his Elites roared their assent, raising their arms in the traditional gesture of agreement.

Hood signed wearily. "Fine. We'll remain here...hold out as long as we can."

'Vadum quivered with barely repressed frustration. "Did you not hear? Your world is doomed." He climbed from his chair as if he could force understanding into the Humans' minds by driving it ahead of him. "A Flood army, a Gravemind, has you in its sights! You barely survived a small contamination," he growled as he stalked towards them.

To his credit, the Human refused to be intimidated. "And _you_, Ship Master, just glassed half a continent! Maybe the Flood isn't all I should be worried about."

'Vadum's hackles raised. He'd glassed only the affected area plus a reasonable safety margin—not even all of Kenya, much less half the continent. "One single Flood spore can destroy a species. Were it not for the Arbiter's council, I would have glassed your entire _planet_!"

As Commander Miranda Keyes tried to calm Hood, and the Master Chief argued for them to trust the words of Cortana, the Arbiter walked silently to Rtas and put his hand on his shoulder.

'Vadum tried to calm himself, but it was difficult. Humans were a bunch of idiotic little monkeys, so much like Brute/Grunt hybrids. He didn't see what the Arbiter thought was so useful about this species.

But they were tenacious. He had to give them that.

Gods, he was so tense and frustrated and worried and pressured and…

…and trying to get alone with the Arbiter somewhere _nice _was driving him mad with anticipation.

But that was about to end soon enough.

As the Humans made their plans, 'Vadum leaned over to the Arbiter's earbud and murmured, "You're spending the first sleep cycle with me."

The Arbiter shook his head. "I should go with the Spartan."

Rtas leaned forward, put his helmet right up against the Arbiter's and said in his best drill-sergeant voice, "You. Are. Spending. The. First. Sleep. Cycle. With. Me."

The Arbiter blinked.

"I'll tell the Master Chief to…"

"You'll tell the Master Chief to oversee the loading and you'll be along to help him aftr the rest hour."

The Arbiter stared at him, still blinking in confusion.

Rtas 'Vadum kept the smirk off his face—it would not do to tip his hand too soon—but as he led the Arbiter out of the meeting room and towards his quarters, he could not help but be filled with a wicked satisfaction that drove even thoughts of the Flood away.


	8. Chapter 8: Dueling Hearts

**Autbor's Note: **If you do not wish to see a male-male encounter, you will not want to read this chapter.

**Chapter the Eighth: Dueling Hearts**

Time Setting: After the meeting between Lord Hood, Commander Miranda Keyes, the Master Chief, Rtas 'Vadum, the Arbiter and 343 Guilty Spark aboard _Shadow of Intent_; before the _Shadow_'s slipspace emergence at the Ark.

The Arbiter felt vaguely guilty for letting Rtas pull him through the corridors of _Shadow of Intent_ instead of going off with the Master Chief to prepare for the coming assault, but not guilty enough for him to struggle in the Shipmaster's grip. He also felt badly for not giving Rtas more personal time, and if it hadn't been for the constant battles and the unthinkable price of defeat, he would have. He had to sleep anyway; one rest cycle could not hurt now.

'Vadum came to a halt before a door and bowed to the Arbiter, gesturing towards the portal. His curiosity piqued, the Arbiter gripped the handle and turned it.

The first thing he noticed was an aroma, like a soft incense in a firebowl. When the door swung open all the way, the Arbiter sucked in his breath. The harsh regulation lighting in the room was dimmed down to almost nothing; instead, the stateroom was illuminated by the flames of flickering firebowls set in rows along the shelves, tables, and desk of the room. Underneath the incense fragrance, the Arbiter could smell Rtas' scent on the objects in the room. This had to be Rtas' stateroom.

And it was done up like…like…

The bed had a thick, soft blanket pulled back to reveal silky purple sheets. Soft music of windflutes and chimes played in the background, right on the edge of hearing.

Understanding crashed through the Arbiter's mind that he was not going to get much sleep at all.

He was staggered. He had been wondering if Rtas had lost his nerve—in fact, some dark, uncharitable corner of his mind had wondered if 'Vadum was just a tease, someone who got off on suggestion and games and never intended to give him any real satisfaction.

And now, out of the blue, this…

'Vadum poked him in the ribs to push him inside. The Arbiter jumped forwards, surprised, almost nervous with the excitement coursing through his veins. Rtas followed him in and shut the door. The lock slammed home with an echoing _clunk_.

Something wasn't quite right with this scenario, the Arbiter thought as 'Vadum wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled him firmly, placing his right mandibles squarely atop the Arbiter's. What was…by the Rings, that felt good, and his heat, and his scent! …what was it?

The Arbiter startled as he heard the click of his ornamental shoulder guard snapping off. That was it…ever since he'd realized that he hadn't ruined his chances after the unfortunate end of their shared dinner, he'd been planning a way to seduce Rtas that would bulldoze right through any reluctance or teasing. But now, the second they were alone, 'Vadum was on the verge of ripping his armour off.

Correction, the Arbiter thought as his chestplate hit the floor. _Was_ ripping his armour off.

"It looks nice in here," the Arbiter murmured into Rtas' earbud. "It would look better with some white armour on the floor."

"If you can find any," the SpecOps commander replied with a teasing smile, "please be my guest." He carefully lifted the Arbiter's helmet off his head and set it gently on the desk. Then his hands returned to roaming the Arbiter's chest, as though it had hurt him to remove them from his partner's body for even that short bit of time.

The Arbiter did not need a second invitation. Growling, he tugged on 'Vadum's left shoulder guard. 'Vadum, green eyes flashing and a broad grin on his remaining mandibles, retorted by stripping the Arbiter's right thigh plate. The Arbiter suddenly found himself seized with the desire to get rid of 'Vadum's clothing as quickly as possible, but the job was only halfway completed when 'Vadum—having now removed all the gold filigree armour—tackled him right down onto the bunk. They tussled for a while, sometimes laughing, sometimes moaning as hands went everywhere and somehow the rest of Rtas' armour and both their jumpsuits wound up missing in action.

'Vadum wasted no time in bowing his head and starting to lick—by the Forerunners, 'Vadum had some nerve, licking his way around the Mark of Shame. He seemed fascinated by the texture of the scar under his tongue, and it tickled all the Arbiter's remaining nerve endings around the outline of the brand. All the while, Rtas' hands were travelling up and down the Arbiter's sides, and just when the Arbiter was about to grab Rtas' head and shove it downwards, Rtas' tongue continued its journey across his body. Strange how the air striking the moisture on his skin felt cool, and yet, the act of being licked made him feel burning hot at the same time.

And then 'Vadum's hands encircled his shaft, dancing lightly, ever so lightly… If the Arbiter didn't know better, he'd swear it was 'Vadum's first time, the way he explored him so slowly and carefully—but of course it wasn't, the SpecOps Commander had been bonded, after all…

Then 'Vadum touched him, slowly and deliberately, right in the most sensitive place…

By. The. Rings.

Rtas 'Vadum knew _exactly _what he was doing.

The Arbiter clicked his mandibles together and groaned, torn between grabbing 'Vadum and showing him firsthand what happened when you teased an alpha male Sangheili for too long, or laying back and watching 'Vadum work his magic. When 'Vadum gripped his shaft at the tip—just at the tip—forcing him to pump his hips in order to feel that delicious friction along any more of his length…that's when he decided to lay back and enjoy for a bit. Rtas was, as a matter of fact, quite skillful. It seemed like for every move he made, the pressure got just a little more intense, a little faster, a little hotter…

Distantly he wondered if maybe he shouldn't tell 'Vadum to take it easier…but no. No, why should he? He'd be good to go again before long—all he had to do was keep 'Vadum at his mercy until then. Easy enough. Right now, if Rtas wanted to service him so much, why should he object? After all, it felt so good…

The Arbiter felt his breath catch in the back of his throat as 'Vadum shifted his grip ever so slightly. He suddenly felt a ripple of fear cutting through the warm haze of desire—a fear that Rtas would stop all of a sudden and leave him begging shamelessly for more.

Damn 'Vadum, for bringing him—_him, the Arbiter_—to this state!

He could feel tears tracing cold trails down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. His breath was rasping, and his mandibles were quivering uncontrollably.

Rtas added just a little pressure in just the right place and the Arbiter lost control. 'Vadum stayed with him, squeezing him long and slow, until he ran dry. His jaws clenched as the last ripple of pleasure passed and left him exhausted and mellowed—but not yet satisfied.

He gave Rtas a smug grin.

The other Sangheili was delicately wiping his hands with a cloth, all gentlemanly manners. The Arbiter allowed himself a private smile at the idea of dashing 'Vadum's professional resolve to pieces. He would _definitely _make the other male beg for it. Make him promise, at the very least, an encore in a time and place of the Arbiter's choosing.

The Arbiter licked his mandibles, trying to decide where he should call that favour in…he _definitely_ favoured Sergeant Johnson's bunk. Faggot, indeed.

But that was a fantasy for later. He had another fantasy playing out for him right now.

"I think you should come here," he said, his voice a low growl.

"I think you should sit up," 'Vadum retorted smoothly.

The Arbiter raised an eye ridge. "Oh? And what happens if I do?"

"Try it and see." The SpecOps commander gave him a teasing little smile.

Well, now. Rtas still wanted to play games. The Arbiter didn't see any harm in indulging his new bed mate; he needed a few moments to get ready for the main event anyway, and the more games 'Vadum played, the more games the Arbiter could play in return. He pretended to concede graciously, sitting up cross legged in the bed, while all the while he was thinking, after Sergeant Johnson's bunk, where else could he get the ever-so-proper Rtas 'Vadum to bend over for a quick fuck? Perhaps another utility closet—after all, it wasn't nice to tease.

'Vadum moved in behind him, letting his body brush suggestively against the Arbiter's bare back. The Arbiter closed his eyes, savouring the experience. 'Vadum's hands caressed the front of his chest, working their way up to his shoulders and beginning to rub him there.

The Arbiter let out a throaty purr as 'Vadum deepened the massage, with both hands kneading their way down to his shoulder blades. He could feel 'Vadum's hot breath on the back of his neck. Oh, yes, he could definitely get spoiled with a bed mate who loved to please as much as Rtas evidently did.

Then things took a sharp turn that the Arbiter was not expecting, and it blindsided him.

A strange sensation tore down the Arbiter's spine as the right side of his body went limp. The muscles relaxed against his will and he felt weak, like a hatchling, as he sagged against the mattress. His left side tingled, but at least he retained control of those limbs. He could feel a shape like a sideways V blazing on the back of his neck, as though 'Vadum had put his shattered jaws right over the Arbiter's sweet spot and…

By the Rings, that arrogant bastard had _bitten _him!

And of course his body had reacted just like a hatchling's and gone limp. The Arbiter thought that should be grateful that with only half his jaws, Rtas could only trigger the biological reation in half his body. But still…

Nobody ever _bit _the Arbiter. Nobody bit the Sangheili he used to be, either, the Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice. Biting was something done by the dominant to the subordinate. He was the bit_er_, not the victim, and if he _did _want to be mounted, he did so secure in the knowledge that his partner would obey his every order instantly, to give him exactly what he wanted when he wanted it without any undesired surprises.

That certainly wasn't what was happening to him now. This situation was completely out of the Arbiter's control.

Rtas moved behind him, wrapping his arm around the Arbiter's chest from behind, drawing him close in an iron grip…and nipping the other side of his neck.

It came to him in a sudden crashing realization that he had underestimated Rtas 'Vadum very, very badly.

All this time he'd thought 'Vadum's hesitance was a sign of submissiveness. It wasn't unknown, to have high ranked Sangheili who got their personal thrills out of willingly surrendering their authority to a lover in private. Somewhere along the line he'd mistaken Rtas for one of these. Perhaps it had been the Arbiter's presumption just because every lover he'd ever taken, save his first, had been submissive to him. Perhaps he thought that 'Vadum's monogamous ways were a result of a docile nature.

How wrong he'd been. By the Rings, he should have known better—he'd seen 'Vadum in combat, leading his men forward not through threats or violence but through the sheer force of his personality. The SpecOps Commander was a dominant male in his own right, and suddenly the Arbiter found himself being the one who was the hunted.

Hunted by a predator who'd lured him in here, seduced him with hands-on service and then out of nowhere shown his true colours and _bitten_ the Arbiter, as though the Arbiter were a virgin female!

As 'Vadum shifted his body in search of the right position, he leaned his weight on the Arbiter, crushing him into the bunk. The Arbiter could feel Rtas' breath hot on his neck as he lay there, his whole body sluggish from the drugging bites, and any second now he was going to be completely dominated by…

Unbidden, his mind flashed back to that first year of War College, to that very first time…like now, crushed against a mattress, though back then he'd been half off a cadet's bunk and his whole body had been paralyzed by a very powerful bite by someone with all four mandibles intact. He remembered how it had felt, how through his unbidden arousal he'd also felt a horrible and chest-choking _fear_…

He could feel another male behind him now, hard and hot, and knew that any second he would…

"No." The word ripped from his mouth and it was too late to take it back, not even for Rtas. He struggled to get his working arm under him.

The Arbiter suddenly found himself flipped violently onto his back, with a very aroused and angry and agitated SpecOps Commander looking down at him.

"No?" Rtas demanded. "What damned game are you playing n…"

The Arbiter cut off 'Vadum's tirade by moving his right arm up, catching Rtas behind his shoulder blades and tugging the other Sangheili up on top of him. Rtas moved along with his urging and soon their mandibles were caressing one another.

After a few sweet moments, 'Vadum pulled back and smiled. "So this is what you like," he murmured as he sought position again. "You want to watch." The Arbiter could feel a purr rumbling through 'Vadum's chest—apparently Rtas didn't mind that idea in the least.

The Arbiter's mandibles flickered, because while his brain was telling him that he ought to explain that actually he didn't usually like being on the bottom, his body wasn't interested in communicating in words right now. His body was interested in communicating in touches and thrusts and licks. His hips were already beating in anticipation; his tongue was lapping at the hollow of 'Vadum's shoulder like it held water in the midst of a desert, and his skin was tingling all over with the feeling of 'Vadum's whole body pressed against his. In fact, what his body wanted most of all was to have Rtas 'Vadum inside him, and so when the other Sangheili drove forward, the Arbiter met him, and the force of their joining ripped the breath from the Arbiter's lungs and drove his fingers hard into 'Vadum's back for support.

He knew his eyes were wide with the sheer shock and intensity of the sensations ripping through him, and he could not shut them. Instead he found himself looking up into the fathomless green depths of 'Vadum's eyes, as if the SpecOps Commander was looking not just at him but _into_ him, absorbing everything he was and replacing it with parts of himself. This was intimacy at a level that was not just shorthand for sexual pleasure but meant, in fact, a shattering of individuality and a reconstruction using intermingled pieces. It was terrifying and relentless and inexorable, ripping him apart inside and out, and he would scream for it to stop if not for the fact that he was screaming for Rtas to give him more, _please_, he'd do anything if 'Vadum would only give him just a little _more…_

'Vadum responded, surging inside him with increased intensity, the SpecOps commander's desire an insatiable whirlwind of hunger that would not be denied, that demandedthe Arbiter's body to respond in kind, and the Arbiter was helpless to stop it. He didn't want to stop it. It was far, far too good to stop.

The Arbiter closed his eyes and howled, a cry as loud as the one he'd given when he received the Mark of Shame. There was no shame left in him now. Whatever his lover asked of him, he would do, and do gladly.

And then it was joined by another note, a baritone to the Arbiter's bass, as 'Vadum also lost control and let the maelstrom sweep through him.

They lay there for a few moments, panting for breath, their sweat turning 'Vadum's silken sheets to sodden lumps. 'Vadum gently disengaged and rolled onto his side, where he cuddled up against the Arbiter as sweetly as you please, tucking his mandibles gently under the Arbiter's and closing his eyes. 'Vadum looked almost innocent except for that big fat smile on his face.

Oh, yes, _now _the bastard was being submissive. And he was still purring.

The Arbiter realized, with some surprise, that he was rumbling in his chest as well.

The Sangheili's holy warrior lay there for a while, feeling the strength return to his limbs while Rtas slept soundly in his arms, slowly realizing that he had had his mind well and truly blown. What this encounter meant, he was not sure. Part of him was frightened beyond all reason.

But he didn't want to leave.

Instead, he reached over and adjusted the waking alarm on 'Vadum's bedside table. It was set to alert them at the end of the rest cycle. The Arbiter adjusted it to wake them an hour early.

He absolutely could not let Rtas get away with this unscathed.

But right now, the Arbiter was tired from his exertions and 'Vadum, that scheming bastard, he was passed out completely. Well, let him sleep while he could. He wouldn't be getting any sleep when that alarm went off; the Arbiter would make sure of that.

Mollified, the Arbiter cuddled up to his consort and went to sleep himself.

*

The alarm went off and the Arbiter's eyes flew open. He didn't remember the details of his dreams—or rather, so soon after waking up, he didn't recall precisely what had been a dream and what was a memory of last night—but it didn't matter. The dreams had taken an effect on him, and he was already unsheathed and firm and ready to give Rtas 'Vadum a little lesson.

Beside him, Rtas moved his torso up on one elbow and blinked sleepily. "What? How can it be time to go to work already?"

It was actually somewhat cute to see the SpecOps commander groggy and half-asleep. The Arbiter smiled, and the smile was warm for a split second before it twisted and became wicked.

"It's not time for work yet," the Arbiter whispered in 'Vadum's earbud.

'Vadum continued to blink those magnificent green eyes. "Then what's happening?"

"It's time for me to get a little something I need," the Arbiter replied.

Rtas' eyes flew wide open and his mandibles clicked. Oh yes, he was well and truly awake now.

"Now roll over so I can bite you," the Arbiter said, pressing his authority while Rtas was still sluggish from waking up.

'Vadum met this order with a big wide smile. "You don't need to bite me," he murmured, "I'm ready for you right now."

The Arbiter was already running his hands appreciatively over 'Vadum's body, enjoying the feeling of the hard, shapely muscles under his soft, warm skin. He put his arm over the SpecOps commander's chest, and leaned down, pressing his snout against 'Vadum's, flaring his mandibles with just the hint of a threat. "Do you not understand an order when you hear one?"

Rtas was peering up at him, completely unafraid, looking into his soul with those luminous green eyes. "You really do have control issues, don't you?" he asked, before bowing his head and starting to lap the base of the Arbiter's throat.

The Arbiter did _not _want to talk about control issues. The Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice—no, he was the Arbiter now—whoever he was, he did not waste time discussing personal problems in bed. He was here to get some physical pleasure, that's all he…

And now he was being a liar.

Honour demanded honesty. Honesty forced him to admit that no matter how much physical pleasure he got from Rtas—and that was a _lot_—there was more going on here. This was his battle brother, his closest friend, someone who had loaned him his personal sword during the suicide battle on the gas mining platform in an act of incredible faith. Someone who had been at his side during the Delta Halo madness, supporting him, watching his back. Someone who meant more to him than anyone else ever had.

It was terrifying. He had to get out of here _right now _and get himself together, back to the cool and composed and distantly authoritative figure he'd been for most of his life, that person whose identity was comforting and familiar and solidly in control and…

…and eternally and utterly alone.

Considering that right now he had his eyes squinted tight with pleasure as Rtas licked him, and his own purr was almost deafening, and he was hard as iron, the answer should be obvious.

And then 'Vadum took hold of his shoulders and drew him down atop him, and whispered a name into his earbud.

A name of a Sangheili long ago lost.

The Mark of Shame had, by tradition, stripped his birth name from him; the mantle of the Arbiter swallowed all other names. But even before, others had addressed him more often by his rank than by his given name—and ever since the end of his first year at War College, he'd started to think of_ himself_ more as a _cadet_ than as the adolescent to whom that rank had been applied. Soon everyone knew his name, but nobody used it. Even then he'd been distancing himself even as he'd been distinguishing himself…even then…

And now Rtas 'Vadum had reached back into the mists of time and resurrected that young Sangheili with just one utterance of his given name.

The Arbiter looked down into 'Vadum's eyes and knew, in that second, a moment of revelation. Rtas did not want to mate with the Arbiter, or the former Supreme Commander, or any of the ranks and accolades that he had won over the years.

Rtas wanted to mate with the person under the armour.

"I l…" 'Vadum's voice cut off and he began again. "I want you as you are. Trust me. Please." His eyes squinted shut. "I need you now."

And he…stripped of all rank and armour and accolades…surrendered. Somehow, even as he drove into 'Vadum and his consort rose to meet him, somehow even that act was an act of surrender. His world shattered.

But he knew the pleasure would make the pain more than worthwhile.

And he knew that Rtas 'Vadum would help him put the pieces back together.


	9. Chapter 9: Ever Up We Seek

**Chapter the Ninth: Ever Up We Seek**

Time Setting: during and after the final level of "Halo 3"

As the Master Chief and the Arbiter charged down the snow-covered mountain towards the ziggurat, the Arbiter squeezed his hand tightly around the hilt of the sword he carried.

It wasn't his own.

Before leaving on this desperate mission—before departing Rtas 'Vadum's stateroom—he'd done a dishonest thing. He had swapped his blade for 'Vadum's while the SpecOps commander was in the shower. It was the same weapon that Rtas had loaned him on the mining platform, the same one he'd given back the day before their fateful dinner.

Was it so wrong to want something of his lover to carry with him?

Was it wrong to, if he were to die, want something of 'Vadum there with him at the last?

And was it wrong to want to leave something of himself behind for Rtas in case he never made it back?

Before he could assure himself that he'd done an acceptable thing, the Flood were upon him, and his thoughts became focused on doing his best to make sure that first, the universe would be safe, and second, that he would live long enough to see it.

*

Shipmaster Rtas 'Vadum stood alone in his stateroom on the _Shadow of Intent_, arms wrapped around himself, head bowed.

Moments ago, _Forward Unto Dawn_—or more accurately, part of it—had fallen from orbit and plunged into the ocean. Human rescue crews were on site now, looking for survivors.

Before him, a single candle burned on a small altar.

"Please," he whispered. "Bring him home to me."

They'd only had one night. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. 'Vadum would sacrifice anything in his power for just one more.

The Sangheili had always venerated the Forerunners; their initial conflict with the San 'Shyuum had been over whether or not it was appropriate to experiment with Forerunner technology. Though they had eventually declared an alliance, it was well known the San 'Shyuum had been the dominant party in the negotiations due to the technological advances they had gleaned from their experiments, and so the Covenant had continued delving into the mysteries of Forerunner tech ever since. But the old Sangheili way had been a spiritual communion with Those Who Had Gone Before, and that included one's own ancestors and elders as well as the Forerunners. Even under the auspices of the Covenant, the old Sangheili ways had not faded out entirely. The Prophets had been willing to overlook the Old Ways if they were practiced quietly and in private. There were many in the Sangheili armed forces who still kept shrines and amulets dedicated to Those Who Had Gone Before.

And now, with the Prophets' Great Journey a proven lie, the SpecOps commander had returned to the altar of his ancestors, now certain that paradise was something to be found only in the hereafter. Rather than seek a shortcut to that reward, he was called upon to first do his duty to his people and enjoy the delights that this temporary existence had to offer.

Rtas Vadumee fell to his knees and prayed to Those Who Had Gone Before that they would watch over the Arbiter and bring him home—the same prayer he had made countless times since the assault on the Ark, which had ended with the Arbiter and the Master Chief heading off in a Pelican to the control room of some new Halo. He wished he could have gone with them, but he did not know where they had gone. All he could do was take his Elites and accompany the human survivors of the Ark assault back to Earth, all the while praying not to be swatted out of existence by the Halos, or emerge from Slipspace only to find all other life destroyed.

The fact that he was still alive and breathing suggested that his Arbiter had done well.

But 'Vadum was all too well aware of the fact that victory sometimes demanded the ultimate sacrifice.

His comm link sat silently on his desk. He'd asked the Humans to contact him when they knew anything about…well, he'd asked after the Chief and his AI as well, as a matter of good form, but it was the Arbiter who really concerned him. 'Vadum found himself listening for the telltale crackle of an incoming transmission, while all the while dreading to hear it.

The position of Arbiter was a suicidal one. He wasn't coming back.

And then there was a knock on the door.

'Vadum's hide went cold. How bad could it be, that they'd sent someone in person instead of using the comm link?

Feeling dizzy and sick, 'Vadum rose to his feet, crossed his room, and opened the door.

Standing on the other side of the portal was a battered, bloody, dirty, exhausted, bruised, and still breathing Arbiter.

'Vadum stepped out into the hall and wrapped his arms around the Arbiter, not giving a damn who saw. He held his friend gently, so gently so as not to put pressure on his wounds, but close. He could not believe the Ancestors had delivered his Arbiter back to him.

"Did we win?" 'Vadum murmured.

"We finished the fight," the Arbiter replied.

Vadumee released him, reluctantly, and took a step back. There was a hollow expression in the Arbiter's eyes.

"The Chief didn't make it," the bloodied Elite said softly, sadly. "The Spartan and his AI were in the rear of _Forward Unto Dawn_. They didn't make it through the slipspace portal."

"Do you think the rear of the cruiser is still intact somewhere?"

The Arbiter shrugged. "The Humans are out searching for beacons, but…"

'Vadum could read the unspoken words on his face. It was possible, but extremely unlikely, that the Master Chief was still alive.

Rtas 'Vadum didn't particularly like the Master Chief, although he respected the human's skills and professionalism—but he knew all too well how it felt to lose a battle brother.

"I'm sorry about your…comrade," Vadumee said.

The Arbiter took his arm, wordlessly, and entered the stateroom. He closed the door behind them and stepped towards 'Vadum again, laying his head on the SpecOps Commander's chest.

*

In the very rare private moments the Arbiter had experienced during the last hellish campaign on the Halo, he had imagined returning to 'Vadum in a blaze of glory, victorious, sweeping the SpecOps Commander off his feet and into his bed and mating with him all night and into the next morning. He tried not to dwell on the image too long, not because it was deliciously distracting (though it was) but because he knew damned well that his time was up, his moment had arrived, and he was going to die one way or another—the best he could do was save the universe so that Rtas…so that life could go on without him.

And in that last desperate run to _Forward Unto Dawn_, with the Master Chief driving like a man possessed and the Arbiter blasting away like a fiend at the Flood, bound and determined not to die at the hands of one of those shambling bastards _now_, he'd almost dared to hope that they might actually make it…

Then they _had _somehow, and he'd gone to the front of the ship to double check the navigation coordinates and give the Master Chief some private time with his beloved Cortana. Such a small decision; yet it was the reason he was here now in 'Vadum's arms.

He managed to draw some small consolation in the knowledge that wherever Cortana and the Chief were—alive or dead—at least they were together again at last.

There was something else nagging at the edges of his thoughts, but before he could focus on it, he felt 'Vadum's strong arms tugging him towards the private head in the corner of the stateroom.

He tried to ask what 'Vadum thought he was doing, but all that came out of his mouth was "Wha…?"

"You're on the verge of shock," Vadumee said grimly, as he hooked his hands under the Arbiter's helmet and slid it off his head. It felt good—really good, actually, to feel the weight of the helmet lift, and the clever way that 'Vadum's hands eased it off his head without tugging or poking him with it. "You're filthy, and you need a shower," Rtas continued as he set to work on the rest of the Arbiter's armour. "After that you're going to lie down and let me dress these wounds, and then, if you're in good enough condition, you're going to have a nice long sleep."

Conquering heroes in their consort's cabins did not have nice long sleeps. Conquering heroes were supposed to give Rtas 'Vadum the most mindblowing sex of his life. But right now the Arbiter felt exhausted enough to sleep for a thousand years. He didn't even have strength to argue as 'Vadum neatly stacked his armour, turned on the shower, adjusted it, and peeled off his jumpsuit with surprising speed. "In you go," Rtas said, in a tone of voice that brooked no argument, as he began stripping his own armour.

The Arbiter took a step backwards—by the Ancestors, that warm spray was glorious—and stared at the sight of 'Vadum tossing his own jumpsuit into a corner.

Rtas read the question in his expression and answered before he had a chance to ask. "If you think I'm leaving you alone, even for a second, then you're very much mistaken."

The Arbiter was too stunned to move, so 'Vadum gripped him gently by the shoulders and guided him backwards far enough to join him in the shower. He pressed the button to activate the force field that would keep cleaning fluid off the floor of his cabin, and then he picked up a bar of soap and with no further words, started to wash the Arbiter's back. Something in the back of the Arbiter's mind remembered his long-ago action plan to get Rtas to mate with him, and how it had involved showers and washing…funny how things came full circle sometimes.

The Arbiter's head was still reeling but not too much for him to realize that 'Vadum was right. He submitted to 'Vadum's attentions—it felt unspeakably good, even when soap caught in his wounds and stung. He barely moved his aching body, just letting 'Vadum guide him where he needed to go. He had a certain natural reaction to the fact that 'Vadum was washing him absolutely _everywhere_, but it didn't last long, and while ordinarily the very idea was mortifying (he had never had that problem before), he was both too tired to worry about it for long and relieved that 'Vadum had made it clear that he wasn't expecting anything romantic tonight.

No, that wasn't correct. 'Vadum wasn't expecting any mating tonight—he'd as much as ordered the Arbiter to submit to his ministrations and then go to sleep. Romance, on the other hand—what else did you call having someone who thought enough of you to care for in this way, someone whom you trusted enough to let them do it? What else did you call a partnership where the two of you together were something better than the both of you alone?

This whole…liason…had started because 'Vadum had been vulnerable to the Arbiter's charms since he was lonely and hurting and needing someone to put him back together. Why, now, was 'Vadum the one putting _him _back together?

The Arbiter had a terrible, horrible feeling that he had not so much revoked his Rule #1 (no long term relationships, and make that clear at the beginning) so much as he had had it pulled right out from under him by a stubborn, authoritative, clever and dangerously handsome SpecOps Commander who was bound and determined to have his own way.

Apparently he was satisfactorily clean, because 'Vadum gave himself a quick swipe with the soap and rinse, then turned off the water and opened the forcefield. The two Sangheili shook themselves off; then 'Vadum wrapped a towel around himself and turned his attention to towelling off his consort thoroughly. All the while, nothing was spoken and the Arbiter began to find himself wondering what Rtas was thinking. Those enigmatic green eyes did not look at him; instead they examined his hide for wounds.

'Vadum guided him to the bed, helped him ease his aching body down into its softness and then walked to a cabinet on the far side of the room, discarding his towel as he went. He retrieved a box and sat on the side of the bed, opening the lid. "Roll over," he said at last, and the Arbiter found himself obeying instantly, too tired to even play-fight in the process.

The healing jellies stung, and the salves made his skin prickle with their weird heat as they worked their way into his muscles. There was one large wound on his shoulder that Rtas had to stitch shut, and the Arbiter couldn't help but cry out as the automatic staples pierced his hide and drew the ragged edges of the wound together. 'Vadum poked him to roll over again and repeated the process on his front. Finally, the SpecOps commander shut the lid of his treatment kit and nodded. "That should hold you together."

The Arbiter rolled over again, wincing as his wounds stretched, moving to the far side of the bed. He realized that he'd left some blood on 'Vadum's immaculately clean sheets. He looked up at 'Vadum, still sitting motionless on the side of the bed, and dropped his gaze to the spot beside him…too tired to speak the words.

'Vadum hesitated a moment and then got into the bed, pulling the covers over the both of them, and then folding the Arbiter into his arms.

The Arbiter nuzzled up to his consort like a hatchling, infinitely grateful for the forces that had spared him and brought him home. But he was frightened as well, of something he could not name. All he knew as he clung to Rtas was that his future was still uncertain.

Then the black blanket of sleep fell across his eyes and for a time, he felt nothing.

*

'Rtas Vadum woke up early and lay still for a long time with the Arbiter sleeping in his arms. He watched the ceiling, letting thoughts chase each other through his mind.

They'd had one sweet night together. He was almost certain they'd have another tonight—the Arbiter had been through a battle like no other Sangheili he'd ever heard of, and the natural reaction, though delayed, was bound to be explosive when it arrived.

Part of him couldn't wait for it.

But another part of him knew that there was no future for the two of them, because he'd gotten into this relationship knowing what the Arbiter was like. And even though he'd come to love him, he knew that loving someone did not equal changing them. The Arbiter was what he was, and Rtas had chosen to accept that fact and mate with him anyway.

Now the time was rapidly coming to pay the price for his decision. Rtas wondered if he could break it off with any measure of grace tomorrow, or whether he'd end up down on his knees, begging the Arbiter to stay just one more night, to mate with him one more time…

'Vadum squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't let himself fall apart, embarrass the Fleet or betray his own honour. He couldn't let the relationship drag on until it self-destructed and left the two of them hating each other. He knew he'd be devastated to hear the Arbiter breaking up with him, and after that he wouldn't be able to think straight; he had to be the one to end it first. He had to somehow salvage their friendship, because he was going to need it in the coming months when the two of them led their people in rebuilding their culture and their political system and their religious faith…

…but by the Ancestors, he loved the Arbiter with an unholy fervor that tore his heart apart.

He had perhaps a day or two to think of the words to give this relationship closure.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, composing sentences and then discarding them, when his comm link chimed and he answered. Lord Hood was on the line.

*

By the time Rtas disconnected, the Arbiter was shaking himself awake. "What was that about?" the Arbiter asked. His body was still sore, and he felt as though he'd been asleep only for seconds, though the clock on the wall indicated that he'd slept almost an entire day.

"The humans are holding a memorial service for those they lost in the war," 'Vadum answered. "They asked us if we wanted to send an envoy."

"We should."

Rtas pressed his left mandibles together. "I think you should go alone."

"Alone?" The word was suddenly terrifying.

"The humans are mourning their dead. We caused many of those casualties. Some of them will still be angry at us, and rightly so. And I know many of our young warriors require little provokation to attack. I would not jeopardize our new alliance by appearing in force and risking an unfortunate misunderstanding." He angled his head. "The Master Chief was your battle brother. You should go."

The Arbiter did not want to ask the question, but knew that he had to face his future. "And what do I have to come back to?"

'Vadum pushed the blankets aside and got up out of the bed. "That armour that you wear is based on a tradition older than the Covenant. Didn't you read your history at War College?" Rtas retrieved his jumpsuit and began to dress. "Before the Arbiter, we had Dervishes—warrior-kings. You are the heir of that tradition, which is one that most Sangheili are likely to accept in the aftermath of the Prophet's betrayal. And until we can get back to Sangheilios and sort out a new system of government, I think that makes you our planetary leader." 'Vadum narrowed his eyes, as if he wondered what the hell kind of question that was. "You have a very big job to come back to."

"No," the Arbiter said, "I mean…" He got up from the bed, put his hand on 'Vadum's shoulder. "I mean…" He couldn't form the words, found himself making a jibe instead. "I mean once I get back, how long are you going to keep following me around everywhere?"

'Vadum folded his arms across his chest and said tightly, "How long do you want me to keep following you around?"

The Arbiter had a sudden flashback to the Heretic gas mining platform, when his gaze had first fallen on the diagram of the station and he had realized he could spook out 'Refumee by cutting the cable. Every once in a while there were moments like these, moments where the entire battle hung on a single accomplishment, a single decision… There was no greater terror than the seconds between realizing what needed to be done and actually accomplishing it. Those were the seconds where you wondered if you had what it took, where you dared not think about the price of failure.

The Arbiter realized he had reached another of those moments now, and he had to speak fast or be lost.

"Forever?" he said, his voice shaky. He gathered all his nerve for one last battle. "Forever would be good."

'Vadum's arms relaxed, though his green, green eyes were peering at him with a guarded expression. "What are you saying?" he asked, still distrustful and uncertain.

"I'm saying you're right that I have a big job in front of me. A job too big for me to do alone. I need someone by my side…you know the Sangheili armed forces are going to be in disarray, and what about the other species, and they need a capable leader to put them back together again and…" He was babbling.

"So you want me to take control of the Covenant military." Rtas took a step back, and though he was nodding in agreement, his arms were folded across his chest in that defensive posture and his eyes were cold. "Done. Now, you'll have a ceremony to prepare for, so I suppose I should give you some privacy and…"

The Arbiter was bungling it. Rtas was turning to leave. Terror filled him, because he knew that if 'Vadum walked out that door, he'd never have anything beyond a working relationship with him and it was not enough, would never be enough, because what deeper hell could there be than to have 'Vadum right next to him every day and know he'd never be held again the way he was held last night…

He lunged, prayed to the Ancestors that his fingers would not miss 'Vadum's arm…

Rtas heard the movement and slowed. The Arbiter's fingers closed on the SpecOps commander's arm. As though in slow motion, 'Vadum's head turned towards him.

"That's not what I meant," the Arbiter whispered. "I meant…"

His foreknees were like jelly. He let them give way and slammed down before 'Vadum. He looked up, up into his lover's green eyes. "I meant I need you. Here. With me. I meant that I feel that we can do anything as long as we're together." His mandibles quivered as he wondered if he was getting through. Rtas seemed to be towering over him, arms still folded, watching him. "I don't know if you want me."

'Vadum folded his legs carefully and knelt opposite him. "You'd better not be lying to me," he said, his voice quietly threatening as he cupped the Arbiter's face between his hands, running his hind thumbs over the Arbiter's mandibles.

"I think we have both experienced difficult lessons about lying to ourselves," the Arbiter murmured. "If I told you to stop it, then I must do the same. I…" He summoned his courage, preparing to leap into the abyss. "I love you, Rtas 'Vadum."

The SpecOps commander's green eyes gleamed. "Thank the Ancestors," he murmured as he put his arms around him and pulled him close.

The Arbiter felt so very secure, even as his physical proximity to his consort caused the expected kind of reaction. He felt at home, he realized as he nuzzled his lover's neck. And all the hell of the war was worth it for this moment, to be given something he never knew he was missing, to have a lifetime ahead of him with Rtas.

"What about you?" he dared to ask, holding his breath.

'Vadum released him just enough to look at him head-on. "I knew I loved you before I dragged you to my stateroom. I…I was afraid you'd bolt if I said it."

The Arbiter sighed. "I probably would have. I was such a fool. I don't know what you saw in me."

"I saw you," 'Vadum said simply, "and I knew it was enough." He placed his mandibles below the Arbiter's and added softly, "Though I'm not sorry to find out now that I get to keep you forever."

They spent a few moments touching, nuzzling, then licking one another, until the Arbiter suddenly realized that having their tongues tangling together was getting him progressively less in a hurry to let go of his consort.

"How long until that ceremony starts?" the Arbiter asked.

Rtas smiled wickedly. "Long enough if you'd just get started."

Soon the Arbiter would ride the gravity lift down to Earth and join the ranks of mourning humans. Soon he would honour the memory of the Master Chief, and Cortana, and the High Councillors, and everyone else he knew who had died in this war. Maybe after the memorial he'd confess to stealing 'Vadum's sword. Maybe afterwards he'd try to make that forever feeling into something a little more permanent…something with a bonding date set.

But first, a moment of celebration—because he was alive, and wanted, and loved.

The original Sangheili energy swords had been single-bladed weapons. These relics were now seen only in museums, ever since some long-ago Elite had discovered that two of the old-style blades could be combined into a single sword that would cut in both directions. He and 'Vadum, thought the Arbiter, were like the twin blades of a plasma sword—stronger together than apart. And together was how they would stay.


	10. Epilogue: The Price of Victory

**Epilogue: The Price of Victory**

Rtas 'Vadum folded his arms, looking down on the holograph of the planet Earth, lost in thought.

He had fought for the Covenant for his entire life. Generation after generation had followed the path laid out for them by the Prophets, marching willingly down to their own destruction.

The Sangheili had their greatest challenge still to come. They could no longer trust the Prophets to tell them where to go, how to act, what to do. They would have to dig, into their history and into their own hearts, and build a compass for themselves to guide their people forward. They would need to think long and hard on what they wished to be, and how to bring that dream into reality.

Rtas was still trying to puzzle out how he would lead them, or what he wished to lead them to. By the Ancestors, he hadn't set foot on Sanghelios in years.

In the midst of his thoughts, the Arbiter returned.

Rtas knew his consort was behind him, watching him, and before the Arbiter needed to ask, Rtas spoke what was on his mind.

"Things look clearer without the Prophets' lies." His mandibles twitched. "But I would like to see our own world, to know that it is safe."

"Fear not," the Arbiter said, reaching out to touch his partner's shoulder, "for we have made it so."

Rtas felt a flood of warmth, of confidence. He bowed his head, filled with trust—for together, they could do anything. "By your word, Arbiter."

The Arbiter settled into the Shipmaster's throne. "Take us home."

*****

When the Arbiter entered the _Shadow of Intent_'s storage depot, the Chief Quartermaster was sitting at a workbench tinkering with something that looked unpleasantly like a UNSC flamethrower, except with the nozzle done up as a stylized Sangheili head with painted mandibles and orange eyes. The nameplate over her desk now had the Covenant honourary suffix "ee" scratched out and a sloppy "y" carved over it.

Fil Storamy, unorthodox by any name at all.

The Arbiter cleared his throat. "Quartermaster. I need to ask you something."

Fil glanced up from the flamethrower. "All right. Shoot."

"Who in the Sangheili armed forces is qualified to perform bonding ceremonies?"

Storamy actually put down her tools to face him head-on. "Shipmasters… Kaidons…High Commanders…"

"How about a hypothetical situation where there are no available Kaidons and the aforementioned Shipmaster and High Commander have, er, other roles in said ceremony?"

Storamy got a big, predatory smirk on her face that made him debate the wisdom of asking her this question.

"Well, if you cut right down to the heart of the law, what it actually states is that an official has the right to perform bondings when in his or her sphere of absolute power. So a Shipmaster can do bondings, but only aboard his ship; a Kaidon can do bondings, but only in his own keep; a High Commander can do bondings, but only to the personnel under his command."

The Arbiter furrowed his brow. "Who else on this ship has a position of absolute command?"

Storamy's smirk grew into a big fangy grin. "I never resigned my job when I came along on 'Vadum's little ride." She rose to her feet, armour flashing. "In other words, Arbiter, you're standing in the stores of the Chief Quartermaster of the Sangheili Fleet of Retribution and this is my domain."

The Arbiter felt nervous for reasons he couldn't explain. "So you'll do it then?"

"Who's the lucky couple?"

He folded his arms. "As if you didn't know."

She smiled with all the sweetness of a Brute. "Humour me."

"It's myself and Rtas. Are you satisfied? Will you do it?"

She nodded. "Yes. But it'll cost you."

"Cost?" he demanded.

She folded her arms too. "Yeah. That isn't Fleet business, that's personal. So if you want the favour, you pay the price."

The Arbiter sighed. "You conniving pirate…done."

Fil smiled and the expression actually looked genuine, if still somewhat predatory. "Excellent."

"I'll contact you with the details," he said, and excused himself, feeling somewhat edgy. Some of it, doubtlessly, was nervousness at the magnitude of the step he was taking.

And some of it was a nagging voice asking if perhaps he should have asked what she had in mind for a price.

*

It wasn't really possible for the Arbiter and Rtas 'Vadum to escape from the world for a month of lounging and cuddling in between bouts of red-hot sex. Instead, though they both were active in the work of rebuilding Sangheili society and fighting the ongoing war against the remnants of the Covenant, they took a few hours every night to be with one another.

They'd been bonded just over a month when a fateful knock sounded on the door of their private quarters in the Vadam keep. Since they had a force of highly trained guards on round-the-clock alert—the last thing they wanted was to be assassinated by Brutes, crazed Covenant loyalists, overly ambitious Sangheili, or other unsavoury elements—their visitor had to be someone whom their security agents had approved.

The two Elites reluctantly untangled themselves from one another, straightened their clothing and went to the door to answer.

Fil Storamy stood before them in full lavender battle rig. Across her back she wore the gravity hammer she'd won in the battle against the Brutes on Delta Halo. The lavendar ribbons decorating its handle suggested that she had no intention of relinquishing it any time soon.

She eyed them both up and down, her eyes gleaming with a disturbing hunger. "So here's the happy couple who both owe me big favours."

Rtas turned to his new bondmate, his eyes wide with alarm. "You bargained with…"

"Do you think she bonded us out of the goodness of her heart?" the Arbiter retorted. "What I want to know is why _you _owe her something."

'Vadum spluttered, "That first time in the captain's cabin… I didn't have time to set up something like that myself in the middle of a war! And the flight to Earth to see you at Crow's Nest…she was flying…"

The Quartermaster's smile was getting bigger and bigger. "And it's almost time to collect. You boys have one more week," Fil said with a big grin. "Enjoy, but don't wear yourselves out _too _too much. You'll need at least some of your energy in reserve."

Rtas and the Arbiter exchanged nervous glances. "What happens next week?"

"Breeding season," Fil Storamy said, turning on her heel and swaggering away before she could see the Arbiter and the SpecOps commander's faces falling, mandibles drooping open, as they suddenly grasped the exact _nature_ of the "big favours" they owed her.


End file.
